Double Asterisk
by Wyrvel
Summary: Abalone Funeral Dirge Act II. Hibari has taken Tsuna to Italy at the behest of Mammon, and Kyouko has joined those left behind, regardless of what Gokudera has to say about it. Mafia families are attacking each other, the Akiyama is in disarray, and Tsuna has yet another boss to deal with. (non-decimo Disciplinary Committee!Tsuna, Varia!Tsuna)
1. Those Who Rise

**CHAPTER ONE: Those Who Rise**

* * *

Mattia Bovino is fourteen years old, and as far as people in the mafia under the age of sixteen go, he's pretty much coasting through life.

Not that the Bovino are like, _mafia_ mafia. Sort of mafia? They don't commit crimes or anything, but they're in all the same circles, and at this point, that's all you really need to be in the mafia in-crowd. No one really knows they exist, what with the lack of crime-doing, but isn't trying to do important stuff without being a felon the _point_ of the reformative mafia movement big hitters like the Vongola are trying to hock? Bovino is technically ahead of the curve, here, in regards to stuff like never hiring assassins or letting any outsiders into their family where they might infect it with their…their…their _crime_.

Anyway, life is awesome and he's awesome.

The Bovino's incredibly amazing technological research has become so amazing that they even got a big giant machine that takes up an entire room, and since this bit of tech is so awesome, they needed someone just as awesome (Mattia) to guard it during night shift, the most prime time to do some awesome tech robbing.

He's…not actually entirely sure what it does. It's got the word 'dimensions' on it.

Anyway, they're paying him for this and all he had to do was exist while they were delegating guard shifts. Being mafia is _easy_ when you're in the Bovino. And it's guarding, which is basically being around when someone tries to mess with your stuff so you can go and stop it, so Mattia doesn't even have to do anything except sit around and read comic books.

Fantastic.

The Big Machine Room is all very delicate and complex, but there's a cement balcony with a ladder down to the heart of the room, which is a huge pillar of light that goes all the way down to the base's engine room. The Boss said it takes up so much energy they had to hook it up directly. When they run tests, it makes all the lights in the building flicker.

The Boss and the Mature Class are developing a lot of things with 'dimension' on it. Mattia thinks it would be pretty cool if they were using it to open a gate to like, the fairy realm, or something. Or hell. Wouldn't it be so rad if all this research was on how to do battle with the denizens of hell? The Boss has got this ring that's like, it's like some sort of ring from hell kinda deal, and Mattia and his brothers were all like, completely sure that it was a nickname because if the scary stuff that happened around its creation, kinda like the rings in Lord Of The Rings, but if it were _actually_ from _actual_ hell that would be _so cool_.

Anyway Mattia is on guard tonight.

And he's gotta pee.

The thing is about being on guard duty in the dead of night when everyone is sleeping is: he can't ask for anyone to cover for him. He's kinda the only one out here. The guards are the only people up right now, so the only people to ask are people who _also_ need to stay put. For much smaller things, even. Things a thief could steal.

There's nothing for it. He just has to go to the bathroom now, and avoid a full bladder in the future. The Mature Class tell him that learning from your mistakes is an important part of growing up.

Mattia sprints down the hall and tries to urinate faster than any man has ever urinated before while still respecting the basic rules of hygiene. He washes his hands, and _doesn_ _'t dry them_. He is a speed demon about peeing. There is no possible way anything could go wrong he is using the toilet so fast.

But then,

 _ **THOOM.**_

Mattia jumps about a foot in the air and sprints towards the noise without a second thought, because oh no, that sounds like it came from _the big room made of technology_. If something happened to it he is going to be in more trouble than he has ever been in _ever_.

He doesn't even bother looking down when he makes it back; he jumps right off the balcony and tolerates the impact shaking up his legs when he lands so he doesn't waste any time confronting potential misdeeds.

There's no one here. No one, but a cloud of dust and a hunk of stone without a source.

Mattia looks at the hunk of stone, then at the walls, then back to the stone. It's clearly a chunk of wall, but nothing is damaged, and it didn't even fall all that hard, if the lack of damage to the floor is any indication. It just _is_.

Right. _Dimensions._

There's only one door into the room barring the two balcony entrances, and would you look at that, _it_ _'s suspiciously open_. It's almost as if a _creature from another dimension_ had _opened_ it, _suspiciously_.

Mattia probably couldn't have prevented a creature from another dimension riding a broken chunk of wall into the Bovino base, so he's going to pretend he was here the whole time and do the responsible thing by investigating.

He gives chase. He would use his new roller-skate shoes, but they use Lightning Aura so they're in storage getting charged basically all the time. Speaking of storage, this hallway only leads to the stairwell that goes down to the basement, with nothing else but a keycard-locked door right before the staircase.

The basement is where the storage is.

And also where the engine room is.

Mattia picks up speed.

He thinks he could probably do his job a lot better if people told him stuff like 'there is a slight possibility you may encounter being from another dimension', or even what _kind_ of dimensions that might entail. Mattia isn't sure he can fight demons. Maybe with his roller skates. Hey, he's heading down to storage right now! See, everything always works out.

The basement has a lot of doors, and Mattia makes a beeline for the third door on the left, the storage room, where his skates are sitting on the pedestal charger. He tries to put them on as fast as possible but there's a lot of laces and straps and he can't rush it without fumbling. When he strains his ears, he hears nothing. Good. _It doesn_ _'t know about him yet_. Boy, will this demon thing be shocked when _Mattia_ comes round to hand it its ass!

He rolls back into the hall noiselessly, and checks on the engine first. It's just a big metal pill thingy twice as big as Mattia is hooked up to a bunch of wires and stuff, but the pill can be removed, so the Bovino have to be careful to make sure no one knows about it and no one tries to steal it. Then they'll have to actually pay their electricity bill. It's marked with the Morning Arc — an arcing line over a little circle with a circle drawn over the beginning of the line — which isn't a Bovino symbol, but Mattia sees it on some of the equipment anyway. He thinks it might symbolize that the thing was made in the base specifically.

He moves onto the rest of the rooms. More storage, labs, more labs, labs: the threequel, the surgery, aaaaaaand…

The last room is The Office.

Mattia gulps, stretches to prepare himself, and opens the door.

The Office is not Boss' office, or any of the Mature Class' office. You get sent here, and you sort of have to submit yourself to do stuff, like chore delegation. There's an office desk and an office chair and some couches for meetings, but it's all just gussying up what you _really_ do here, which is reach over the desk and add your activity log to the computer sitting on the other side. It's hooked up to the big flatscreen TV hanging right above it, so when all the kids go in a flock they know who's doing what without asking. It's really tedious and everyone shoves and people are half-sure that the computer screen is _looking_ at them. No one likes The Office.

There's a person standing there, and he can clearly see them, but the room is pitch black and his eyes are immediately drawn to the TV, the only source of light.

The scheduling software isn't on the TV. It's newspaper scans. The computer here isn't designed to look at newspaper scans, so they're all blurry and stretched too wide. There's been a word-search, so they're all dotted with blue streaks of highlighted text.

The scrolling pauses at a front page with a headline declaring _'TRAGIC DEATH OF EMILIANO_ _ **GESSO**_ _'S SON LEADS TO INTERNAL INVESTIGATION'_.

The article itself is too blurry to make out, so he redirects his attention to the intruder.

It looks like a normal person, albeit covered in stone dust. Curly black hair, and dressed for summer with a green tank and tan capris. It's so normal Mattia feels kinda disappointed.

"I can't believe he was actually right," says weird rock-riding extra-dimensional dude. He sounds kind of upset.

"Uh…halt!" Mattia announces. He's not sure what else to say.

The guy turns around.

"Oh," Mattia says, blinking. "Sorry, I didn't know you were one of us."

The guy, the Bovino, who looks like the same age as Mattia (and thus looks exactly the same as Mattia) stares at him for a few seconds. He looks exhausted.

Mattia shifts uncomfortably.

"…So…where'd the rock come from?"

"The wall fell on me when I was coming in and I accidentally took it with me, sorry. I don't think it broke anything." Mattia's brother shakes stone dust from his hair.

"Yeah I think it's all cool. So where'd you come in from? Is that like a teleporter?"

"Uhm…basically…" His brother frowns at him. "You don't know how it works?"

"We don't get to know that stuff until we're the Mature Class," Mattia shrugs.

"Oh. Guess that makes sense." He walks over to Mattia, hesitates, and then reaches out behind him to turn on the lights. In the new lighting, Mattia can see that his brother is _super_ Classic-looking, with the average half-length haircut and pale green eyes. His hair is really untidy though, so it kinda falls into his eyes, which Mattia guesses is cool enough.

His brother raises his hand and runs his fingers through one of the three streaks of acid green running through Mattia's own black hair, eyebrows furrowed. After a second, he nods slowly. "Mattia, right?"

"Yeah! Yeah, you see, everyone makes fun of me for bein' all alternative and whatnot with the hair thing, but when you look Classic, you gotta like…make a _statement_ , right?"

"I don't know. I always thought all my brothers looked really different."

" _Awww,"_ Mattia smiles.

"What are you doing up so late, anyway? Aren't there curfews?" His brother returns to the computer to shut it down.

"I'm supposed to be guarding that big room full a' technostuff." Mattia rolls around on his skates.

"Oh, my bad." His brother taps his fingers against the side of the computer screen. It's a really un-Bovino kinda thing to do.

"So, uh…where you from?"

"…A winery out in Grosetto."

"What you guys make out there?"

"Wine."

That doesn't sound especially techy. Probably like a side business thing. So everyone has more money to spend on tech. "Cool."

"They…They tell us all about how everything works, out there," his brother says quietly. "You always know exactly what to do, not like here. Do you want to see, Mattia?"

"See what?"

"What the Bovino make."

"What? Really? Won't we get in trouble?" Mattia starts skating in tight circles in his excitement.

"Don't worry. I'll take responsibility." His voice is really soft and faint, which is also not very Bovino-like. They must raise 'em up different in Grosetto. That's probably why they trust them with information that usually only the Mature Class get to know. This is _soooo_ awesome!

"You sure? Really?"

"Yeah." His brother manages a weak smile, and fidgets with his bracelets, running chipped, dirty fingernails over a yellow crystal orb that looks almost like a pacifier. "Show me the engine, and I'll show you everything."

When they leave The Office, he places something on the wall. It's metallic and has a blinking red light.

Huh. Must be part of the big reveal.

* * *

Miki thought the worst was over when he got his eyes dialed down and somehow convinced his parents to let a strange foreigner live in their house, but he is proven very, very wrong when their early-morning breakfast-slash-apartment hunt is interrupted by a knock on the door.

He already has an idea of who it is. He's not sure he's really in the right place to see them right now. Then again, where has avoiding his problems gotten him so far?

"I need a job," Ben mutters, re-reading the promising selections they've written down. "You think they'll let me get a job?"

"I don't know, I guess? There's always people guarding me. I don't see why not."

"Yeah, but you're letting me stick around because I'm protecting you from the people protecting you."

"…Hmmmm."

No one's answering the door, so Miki heads into the kitchen. His mom is passed out at the dining table, again.

"Mom, please go to bed," he whispers.

His mom makes a noise that sounds only vaguely human.

She's pulling a lot more all-nighters than usual; Miki wonders if he should be worried. Her threshold for fatigue is pretty low, and she starts hallucinating spiders far earlier than most people, but she has the immune system of a god. Maybe he'll ask his dad about it.

Miki considers the door, and decides he may as well confront the rest of his problems now while his brain is still having trouble remembering what hope feels like. The unrelenting pessimism telling him nothing can get worse than Miyazawa is the closest he's ever gotten to courage. Also, the fact he's just really, really mad at everyone right now. Angry people are the best at being competent, right? That's how Gokudera took over a school in under four hours and had a loyal legion of followers within the day, Miki is pretty sure.

Behind the door is Kurokawa. She's brought a friend, who appears to be the girl who had suggested the vacation to Miyazawa to begin with. Maintaining eye contact doesn't feel like an uncanny valley of almost-discomfort clawing at his psyche anymore, so whatever caused their trance-like staring contest, it's not there anymore. He should have brought that up with uncle Naoki, god he's dumb.

"Hey. We're having a meeting at Takesushi's about, like, magic and stuff."

Miki stares at her.

"…Ma…Magic and stuff."

"Yeah. We all got magic powers so we're going to mess with them irresponsibly. Wanna come?"

Miki holds a hand over his mouth.

Then he gently closes the door.

" _Mooooooooooooooom."_

The sound she makes is slightly closer to human. Good sign?

" _Mom,_ i-is there something we're supposed to do if civilians know, uhm, about, like the whole…magic…lore thing?"

"They're not civilians," she mumbles.

"Yes? They are?"

" _Not anymore_."

Miki wishes his mom wasn't so cynical about their family. It's like an echo chamber of pure misery in this house.

"Okay. I'll just. Maybe I should go? Check on them and what they're doing? O-Or…"

"Take the…" His mom gestures widely to Ben.

"R-Right, that's, yeah! Yeah. Ben, can you come with me? I'm going to, uhm…I don't know, I guess observe. They're friends with the president, right? I-I want to talk to him so I should…right, yeah, I'm going." Miki wrings his hands anxiously.

Ben pulls himself off the couch. "Yeah. Don't want to be in here wasting more time and resources than I have to."

They slip their shoes on and head out. Kurokawa is, to her credit, still waiting with the painfully pretty girl.

"No bandages," she notes.

"Not for long. I'll put them back on soon."

"Aw."

It's not really a rational decision to put them on to begin with. Miki mostly feels really freaked out by the extremes he was willing to push people to get out of a bad situation, and kind of bitter that the Kouyou family seems to prefer his eyes over the rest of him.

And, you know, his entire family is in the yakuza and the most personal relationship he had was uncle Kunihiro, who smashed three bathroom mirrors with a 12-year-old's face for trying to intimidate Miki only two days into his first semester, so he's not emotionally prepared for open rebellion. Or being in the same building as his uncle for extended periods of time. Or going outside at all where people could…could _watch_ him.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

Ben gives him an awkward pat on the back. Miki fakes a smile and starts wrapping.

* * *

Kunihiro wakes suddenly from what he can only assume is Mukuro's PTSD nightmare.

He can't be sure, seeing as their childhoods are similarly plagued by uncertainty, emotionally draining criminal families, and hot summer days spent skiving off instead of fulfilling any responsibility to said criminal families, but the thread of terror through them is hint enough. He doesn't remember the contents of the dream. He's assuming Mukuro would kill him if he knew, anyway.

He had…not fibbed, but _exaggerated_ his experience with this sort of thing. The only one he's ever really resonated with was Naoki, and Naoki hasn't been close enough to him to share their headspace in _years_. Even then, it's not like _this_ , their memories blurring at the seams. _Nothing_ is like this. Kunihiro's never heard of an illusionist capable of half the shit Mukuro does naturally. Kunihiro wonders if he has a Wick literally growing in his eye socket. The science required to do that is…he likes raising kids into their potential as much as the next recruiter, but the level of invasive surgery to a kid who's already part of your family, god, he'd tear apart the Famiglia if Mukuro hadn't gone and done it already. What a _waste_. What's the point of giving this much power to a kid if it gives them trust issues?

Anyway, Mukuro is ungodly powerful, and it's impossible to find illusionists south of Japan. They're all in Hokkaido or something. The family is going to love this.

Speaking of the brat, he's still unconscious, and burning up with a fever, soaking the sheets of his bed with sweat. Kunihiro had gotten them a hotel room because the kid blacked out before he could show him where his little cloister of criminal cohorts are staying. Naoki has been trying to call him since the whole attack began. He hasn't resorted to texts, but Kunihiro can feel the anger and exasperation increase exponentially with each one anyway.

Kunihiro runs cool water over a complimentary face towel and dabs it over Mukuro's flushed brow. He runs it along the crook of his neck, and frowns at how visible the cords of his throat are. He yanks up the boy's shirt. Visible ribs, stomach is flat in less of a 'toned to hide the round of a stomach' way and more of a 'I eat sometimes, but not today' way. A few presses to his organs tell him that underneath the musculature is soft, pliable, and definitely not swollen innards. Bowels are healthy. He pulls back the sleeves, next. More distinct muscles, but again, the bones are sharp and visible, especially around his wrists.

Not starving, but not eating regularly, either. His body type is so narrow, Kunihiro imagines it was never designed to pack on the calories (or the nutrients) to begin with. Inconsistent diets are a baaaaaad idea for kids like him.

Kunihiro leaves the towel on Mukuro's forehead and heads out. He doesn't go far, just grabs something to eat; veggies, rice, and meat especially. He takes it back to see Mukuro hasn't moved.

The bathroom door is open, though.

Kunihiro, not one for caution, puts the food on the table, cuts the back of his wrist open, and strolls right up to the door. There's a man in all black with deep, puckered scars along his cheek. His eyes are sunken and haunted, staring into the mirror.

"Can I help you?"

"You've already done that." He turns to glance over his shoulder. One of his eyes glows red.

"You can do that unconscious?" Kunihiro laughs.

"…Control is more than possession," the man says.

"Mindslaves, gotcha. Hungry?" Kunihiro opens a plaster with his teeth, wets the cut on his arm, and slaps it on. He can take it off later if he needs to.

Tall Dark And Intimidating opens the bag of food Kunihiro had fetched. He doesn't look happy. "Nothing sweet…"

"I'm not feeding him junkfood. He looks like another week with a bad diet is going to put him in a hospital." Kunihiro sets out the food. "How'd you know to find us? He passed out pretty quickly."

"I am always sensitive to Mukuro-sama's presence."

Kunihiro regards him for a moment, trying to place the face. He sort of knows who he's looking at. He was a little younger, much less sunken, yet still no eyebrows. He's one of the bodies Mukuro used for a murder tantrum; he can almost feel what it's like to be inside him just at a glance. The facts are blurry in his mind, but there's a strange weight to his presence that tells him that Mukuro has some sort of strong opinion about him.

"How many of you are there?" Kunihiro taps his chopsticks against the table.

"Mukuro-sama's closest followers number only two, but we've gained the loyalty of four criminals. You won't survive harming him."

Two, two, two, twooooo kids, blending into the mob of hungry, blood-speckled children that smelled like ash and gore stumbling after Mukuro, clutched in the arms of his murderous meatsuit, escaping tooooo…a country. He has the image in mind, not the facts. The point is, once he dumped them all in some delightful place where no one could touch them and had the meatsuit shoot himself, those two started following him around everywhere. They're like his friends.

"Harming? I'd never. Mukuro-kun is my friend! And we have a deal."

"What are the parameters of that deal?"

"He keeps me out of trouble and doesn't attack anyone I like, I tell him all about Flame lore."

Mindslave's expression is empty and carved from stone. "What are you to Mukuro-sama?"

"Oh, I'm his best friend." Kunihiro gives him a smile that shows teeth.

"Mukuro-sama has no friends."

"There's nothing a lonely misanthropic teenage boy hates more than admitting his friends are friends. What's the job he needs my intel for, anyway? Assisting someone in robbing the Vongola seems a little extreme just for information this basic." Kunihiro raises his eyebrows at Mindslave as he tears the meat of his order of ribs off the bones.

"Not particularly," Mindslave says. He holds a bean pod to his lips. "Because the job he needs the information for is most relevant to his plans for the Vongola."

* * *

Shamal goes through two cigarettes before he's ready to head back to Federico's.

Hayato's Japanese friend is completely deprived of feminine charm. He is all masculine, boyish charm, and masculine, boyish lack of self-respect and caution. He came out of the shower dazed and unfocused, and stared at Shamal for half an hour while he was going through his third callgirl. He only blinked about four times. It's a pretty normal reaction to having Angelitis reversed — information is recognized slow and processed slower, so once the kid decided 'okay, who's this then', he was destined to spend basically forever trying to comprehend Shamal's existence, a phenomenon Shamal personally experienced when he did it to himself at age twelve and spent all night trying to remember what babies were while Reborn ordered pizza and mocked him incessantly — but being leered at by a disoriented teenage boy he treated is so low on his priorities he feels like his integrity as a professional has been violated in some way.

The alternative was probably Hayato trying to kill the Bambino Beelzebub (unlikely), Zeni (uh-oh), or Reborn himself (hell no), so Shamal just has to suck it up and deal. And tell the kid that if anyone asks, Hayato mugged him and treated the boy himself. Shamal's entire 'cure women kill men' hitman-doctor shtick is at risk, here.

On the other hand, when he tells Bianchi he helped her brother at the expensive of his primary character traits, she'll probably give him a peck on the cheek and maybe stop trying to kill him.

It's morning, though, and Bianchi doesn't drop by Federico's until after noon, so all that's there for him is Reborn. And he hates dealing with Reborn.

Nothing is worse than dealing with Reborn at his most existential-dread-iest, where Shamal was a child and Reborn had no place taking care of one, but Reborn is a pain in the ass even when he's in a good mood. He built a brand on being irritating. Getting information out of him is like pulling teeth.

With a sigh, he knocks on the door. Federico's little dollface son answers.

"Reborn here?" Shamal asks.

Toru cocks his head very, very slowly, not breaking eye contact. It's almost certainly a threat. Reborn is probably up to something; he loves bringing Toru into his schemes, because Toru doesn't really care enough to object to all the ridiculous shit he does. "He is."

"I want to ask him something."

Toru steps out of the way. Shamal toes off his shoes. "Reborn!"

Reborn steps in from around the corner. He has mastered the Sudden Appearance. The man would rather die than be seen waddling around.

"Doctor Shamal."

"Just got back diagnosing that dying child," Shamal says. "Seems he's got Angelitis."

"Does he."

"You know. That condition you get when an Invoker doesn't take."

"I'm familiar."

Shamal runs his hands over his face and exhales. "Question. Why's the Bambino Beelzebub — the notorious cat burglar, if you remember — got a gun full of Dying Will Bullets?"

"You could ask him yourself," Reborn says.

Shamal opens his mouth.

Then he dashes to the guest bedroom.

Federico is there, with his hand pressed against his mouth, looking like he's going to cry. He's squatting in front of the bed, where, sure enough, a shrivelled little boy with a seaweed mop of black hair is sprawled. Shamal isn't sure if he's unconscious or not; he's wiggling a black stone rectangle necklace between his teeth.

"He's so tiny," Federico whispers with the deep emotion usually reserved for kittens doing something cute.

"Is that…?"

"His name is Gi U. I'm well aware of his actions," Reborn says from his new position atop Toru's head.

"And why is he in the employ of Romolo Zeni, firing dying will bullets at teenagers?"

"He was supposed to fire them at the regular henchmen, but I can see the situation became rather complicated."

"The other kid didn't die, did he?" Federico asks.

"No, he— why are you giving a cat burglar dying will bullets, Reborn? No one is supposed to have those things but you!" Pills makes sense; you could get dying will pills by swiping a hand underneath any given cabinet over at the CEDEF, but the _bullets_ …

"I don't know," says Reborn.

Shamal hesitates. "Wha—?"

"I don't know. Gi U comes to me to recuperate and pick targets. I'm not fool enough to give him weapons he doesn't need." Reborn tugs his fedora over his eyes. "…The one who wanted him to have the bullets was Timoteo."

The _Ninth?_

* * *

There's no deep-frier in Yamamoto's house, so Hayato picks the lock to the restaurant below as soon as he wakes up. There is shitloads of fish, seeing as it's a fish restaurant, and Hayato feels his mouth water involuntarily while he starts preparing fish and chips. About halfway through he realizes he doesn't have potatoes, because it's a fish restaurant. A problem.

Yamamoto wanders down to stare at him while he works. He doesn't look bothered by the fact Hayato broke into the restaurant kitchen.

"Your dad not coming down?" Hayato asks.

Yamamoto shakes his head and mimes casting a fishing line.

"Fine." He finds veggies in the fridge. Not a lot, but they're good for dips. Hayato starts dicing them. Yamamoto hasn't taken his eyes off him since he came in. He looks like he's going to fucking _eat_ him. Jesus christ.

He sets the fried fish on a platter and makes a roughly-piled veggie platter right next to it.

"Serve yourself," Hayato says.

Yamamoto drifts over to the platters. He uses chopsticks to put the fried fish onto his own plate, and then his brain visibly shuts down.

"Fucking god are you ever useless." Hayato puts the veggies on the plate for him, and adds dressing. "Sit down when you eat."

Yamamoto completely fails to listen and munches on the way to the tables. Hayato grumbles under his breath and sits next to him. Yamamoto starts leering at the food, now. It takes him like five minutes to figure out how to take a bite of his fish. Hayato massages his temples. _So annoying_.

"Give," Hayato snaps, yanking Yamamoto's plate from his hands. Yamamoto looks blankly at him as he chops the fish into small pieces with his spare bowie knife. He gives the plate back. "I want you done eating by the time everyone else gets here."

Yamamoto has a much easier time eating when the task is reduced to 'pick up, put in mouth'. They actually manage to finish in a timely manner, thank god. Hayato takes their plates and goes to wash them. He twitches when Yamamoto is basically breathing down his fucking neck on the way in.

"Can I _help_ you?" Hayato snaps.

Yamamoto cocks his head and his face screws up very, very slowly.

"God. Go sit by the door, you need to let them in."

Yamamoto's face clears up and he cheerfully goes over to the door, leaving Hayato to do his chores in peace.

He's been doing that all fucking night, too. Yamamoto seems to be thinking in slow motion, and he's fixed a placid smile on his face so he's got this completely bizarre predatory 'you're doing something interestiiiing' look at Hayato that seems _completely_ _unintentional_. His usual chipper, passive-aggressive-bullshit attitude that he used to buy Tsuna's favour is nowhere to be seen, replaced with the kinda look people used to give him when they they were torturing people for the sake of seeing Hayato squirm. Fucked up, is what it is. He usually snaps out of it if Hayato does something to simplify his thought process, but that just leaves him with the fact that his 'thinking face' is also his 'sadistic murderer' face. No one would fuck with Yamamoto in the slums of southern Europe, and Hayato resents him for it.

He's done the dishes by the time there's a knock on the door. Hayato skids into the dining area.

"Heeyyyy," Kurokawa greets with a little wave. "Yamamoto says the restaurant opens at ten, so we'll be brief with all this."

"I see you can type, at least," Hayato grunts.

Yamamoto's smile pulls into something more akin to an actual face real humans make when they want to express positive emotion and he scratches the back of his head.

Behind Kurokawa is Sasagawa the younger, Miki, gun kid, and that complete fucking stranger. He hadn't asked her name. Had he? Maybe he just didn't care.

"Her brother isn't coming?"

"Dude, Onii-san's everything is broken. Let him live," Kurokawa says.

"This is exciting," Tsuna's friend squeals. "Kusakabe-senpai was really worried about me, it's so wonderful that you've figured all this out by yourself!"

"Uh…yeah, a lot happened. Like, uh…" Hayato looks pointedly at Kurokawa.

"Like how the yakuza and the archeology team got in a fight over magic artifacts," Kurokawa says leadingly.

"Right, like that. Yamamoto robbed them."

Yamamoto's smile drops into an unimpressed look.

"He's funny," Sasagawa whispers. It's unclear if she's taking them seriously or not. She seems critical enough of criminals that robbing them would be 'funny'.

Kurokawa and Sasagawa take one table, and Miki and Gun Kid inexplicably take a table on either side of…the Miura sister, right.

"Why is she here again?"

"I'm the therapist," Miura says cheerfully.

Yamamoto slips right in to sit at her table and does that freaky leer at her.

Miura's mouth opens. She looks from Yamamoto to Hayato, unsure.

"He's thinking. That's his thinking face. He's got a disability where that's his thinking face."

"Oh. Uhm, okay. Okay!" She folds her hands on the table and tries her best to pretend Yamamoto isn't sitting there, drilling holes into her skull with his eyes.

"Next: why are you wearing bandages on your face?" Hayato gestures to Miki.

Miki looks up at him. "I'm extremely dangerous. Nothing would happen if I took them off, I guess, but I don't want to."

Honestly, did everyone come out of Miyazawa broken?

He sighs and points his hand at Kurokawa next. "You. Boss is?"

"He sent me the letter 'a'." Kurokawa shows him the text.

"He was probably tired. Text him again later. No, call him." Hayato gestures to Gun Kid. "And then…you."

"Kurokawa told me I'm relevant," he responds quietly.

"Sure, yeah. So Sasagawa knows about magic aspects—"

"Hana told me," Sasagawa nods.

"Right. She told you. So what aspects we got here?"

Kurokawa hums. She points at Hayato, "Red," (Storm), Yamamoto, "Rain," herself, "Lightning," Gun Kid, "Sun," Miki, "Sun," Miura, "Lightning," and then her finger hesitates at Sasagawa.

"What's a Lightning? What's it do?" Miura asks gleefully.

"Hold on— Shou-kun, you got the thingy?"

"This feels reckless and dangerous," Gun Kid grumbles. He takes out the dial.

"This is how you pick out different types of magic," Sasagawa notes.

"Mm-hmm…Just crank it for a while and press the button."

Sasagawa obeys. Her hand pulsates with light just under the skin, which escapes as a vibrant orange like a stain spreading over paper. Then it destabilizes and rapidly decays, collapsing into smoke that swirls in circles and looking like cigarette smoke blown out during the fall of dusk against cold air.

"…Yeah, I got nothing," Kurokawa mutters.

"Can she do shit? Any special powers?" Hayato asks.

"I'm very psychic," Sasagawa says matter-of-factly.

Fuck, Hayato was so off-the-mark. She had all but told him outright. Tsuna was right to get mad at him. He probably knew already. "…Okay we'll, hm. We'll put you in under Mist, that seems like the only one that fits."

"Oh, so it has an explanation and everything after all! What's Mist like?" Sasagawa asks eagerly.

"Uh…I dunno, illusions? We're new to this too. So, everyone's got their own little aspect to investigate!" Hayato claps his hands together. "Step one, we'll show off to each other until Yamamoto's dad kicks us out. Step two, we blackmail someone for even more information. Step three, we use our powers for the sake of the Boss."

"Who's the boss," Miura whispers.

"He means Tsuna. Tsuna's very impressive," Sasagawa whispers back.

Miki raises his hand, looking away even though dumbass is already blind. "I-I, uhm…I think…I could help with step two."

* * *

Tsuna awakes to Hatachi licking his face.

"Mmrrrggghhh," Tsuna says.

He doesn't get to go back to sleep, unfortunately, because next thing he knows, he's being dragged by the ankle right off the bed. His forehead hits the carpeted floor with a little _thunk_.

"Guuugghrgh," says Tsuna.

"Get up," Hibari says. "We're here."

Tsuna flips over to look up at him. Hibari is, shockingly, decked out in full Varia uniform. He looks amazing, obviously. His haircut looks strange, but it doesn't seem like Tsuna has messed it up any. It's haloed by the overhead lights, because Hibari is always haloed by _something._ With the short hair, he looks less like an ethereal god, and more like an angry teenager.

Hatachi jumps down onto his back and kneads his little paws on Tsuna's back before running to the jet's door. Tsuna rolls over again and pushes himself to his knees. "You're wearing someone else's uniform."

"It won't be for long," Hibari says.

"You're going to _join the Varia_?"

Hibari gives him a mysterious smile and goes over to the sitting room.

Tsuna pulls himself to his feet and goes to the cupboard to put on the extra-small uniform. The other uniforms come with a black button-down, but the smallest size comes with an indigo sweater. Probably for the same reason there's a new wig here. Tsuna slicks his hair back, pins it in place, and carefully puts the wig on. It's supposed to seal to his skin, with realistic roots, and he has to be careful with it.

Hibari is napping on the couch when Tsuna turns around. Hatachi is sitting on his chest, panting at the both of them, looking delighted just to be here.

Tsuna opens his bag in search of his makeup, and pauses.

The documents from Gi U's room.

He remembers the conversation from last night. "…Hibari-san?"

"Mm."

"You understand…Korean and Italian, yeah?"

"Mm."

Tsuna fidgets with the edges of one of the pages. "…I have some documents that might tell you more about, er, Flames and such."

"Give them to me later."

"S…Sure."

Tsuna reaches underneath his pile of stolen documents and takes out his compact mirror and makeup. He applies the usual foundation, blush, and eyeshadow (purple, this time), and once again laments his inability to apply stuff like eyeliner. He doesn't have any purple lipstick, so he settles on lipgloss to finish his face off.

When he holds the mirror at a distance, he thinks he looks elegant and mysterious, but also just as young as he usually does (which is 'very'). Tsuna can't wait until puberty, whatever that brings him.

"Are you done?" Hibari asks.

"Uhm, I think so?"

Hibari sits up, and Hatachi jumps down. Tsuna opens the door for the three of them.

The jet landed in what looks like an airstrip surrounded by a forest. They've outran the sun; it's nighttime in the distant lands of Europe, and the moon is high in the sky. The air is brisk, but not as cool as Miyazawa's air was. It smells like leaves and earth instead of ocean and smoke, and even though there's nothing to visually separate the two regions, Tsuna still feels the difference in locations on a subconscious level.

Waiting for them is two men in the same Varia uniform they're wearing and Mammon, floating in the air, somehow dangling under a serpent biting its own tail. There's a roll of toilet paper dangling from the baby's hip.

Tsuna bows. Hibari looks unimpressed.

"You'll be staying in our manor until the meeting," Mammon declares.

"Meeting?"

Mammon turns to Hibari. "You didn't brief it?"

"He'll do what he's told regardless."

Tsuna rolls his eyes. Well, he's _right_ , but he doesn't have to go out and say it like that.

"Mu…We've requested a meeting with the Vongola. You're to supervise. If it becomes violent, you'll be de-escalating. If it simply goes poorly, you'll be used to retrieve the target we're bartering over."

"Sounds…simple…?" Tsuna makes a face.

"And who exactly is this?" Mammon looks at Hibari.

"My boss." "His boss."

Mammon doesn't react.

Tsuna clears his throat. "My current employer and supervisor, Hibari Kyouya."

"The bird progeny. In that case, I doubt we'll be able to part you from this case." Mammon floats over to Tsuna. "You. I'll need your name, age, gender, and employment status. You'll be entering as my subordinate."

"Oh, yeah, okay." Tsuna takes a step back when a set of papers are shoved into his face, along with a pen. He uses his thigh as a surface.

Name…well, it sure as shit isn't Tsuna, here. His dad has some sort of relationship with the Vongola, and these guys are the Vongola Varia. Outing himself is a terrifying prospect, here. Since he's trying to look girly, he writes 'Hachiko'. Age…he doesn't want to looked down on, and girls can get away with looking younger. He'll say 16. Gender…

He taps once, twice on the paper. The entire point of a disguise is to pretend to be someone else (namely, Not Sawada Tsunayoshi, Son Of Sawada Iemitsu, Man Who Is Tangentially Related To The Vongola Maybe), but outright saying he's a girl feels kind of…

"You don't have to make any assertions of your gender," Mammon says suddenly, making Tsuna jump. "It's only a matter of convenience."

Thankful for the excuse to avoid it, Tsuna moves onto fill in the details of his employment to Hibari. He gives the document to Mammon, who reviews.

"…This will be adequate. Come. I'll take you to be briefed by Squalo."

Oh.

Right.

Him.

 _Shit_.

* * *

Iemitsu runs cold water over his head, the traditional man's man way of waking up with your job smacks you on the ass just when you thought you could relax for once.

Well, not like he was relaxing much. Gokudera was skittish, unfriendly, and giving himself a stress ulcer just making eye contact. For all his drilling, all Iemitsu got out of him was that Tsuna had ambition, some friends, and he's very nice to Gokudera, which tells Iemitsu very little, especially coming from a source as blatantly biased as Gokudera.

After Tsuna's friend showed up (delightful girl, good influence, assured him of his moral integrity, seems to be the source of his gang involvement, very soothing to talk to), Gokudera got really prickly. For one, he made an effort to hide from her; suspicious. For two, he proceeded to immediately jump out the window while they were talking to her. Iemitsu should have predicted that. Is he losing his edge?

Iemitsu figured Gokudera was going to run off to fill Tsuna in, and that could give him some valuable new information in the form of how Tsuna tends to react to new stimuli. He had decided to ignore it and settle on throwing back a few drinks while reviewing what he has on the other 'friend', Kurokawa (boring, part of a deeply community-centric family, involved in the law, seems to be taught to use weaponry under Miura Fuyumi (yikes), no strong relation to Tsuna, seems obligated more towards Sasagawa Kyouko than Tsuna to begin with), and Yamamoto's son (uncomfortably enthusiastic about baseball).

And then he woke up to three new reports. One from Basil, one from Oregano, and one from Cumin.

From Basil; Timoteo is delaying a follow-up meeting with Difo, and needs Iemitsu to cover for him. He's going to a very important meeting. It's an internal matter.

From Oregano; Squalo is kicking up shit and has forced her to be a liaison in a professional meeting between the Varia and their employers. It is theoretically a request for highly classified work that can't be communicated through a third party, but everyone involved knows the real reason _Squalo_ would invite _Timoteo_ over to his own home.

From Cumin…

Only an hour ago, still night-time in Italy, an explosion wiped the Bovino off the map. There were no survivors. All investigation into Bovino technology has been called off.

Iemitsu pulls his head out from under the tap.

It's going to be a hell of a day.


	2. Those Who Move

**CHAPTER TWO: Those Who Move**

* * *

If Tsuna had any doubts of Mammon's status as an illusionist before, they'd be dashed by now.

They had gone from the airstrip to an unassuming patch of forest. Followed by an unassuming patch of forest. Followed by the pervasive feeling they've seen this series of trees before, followed by a disorienting feeling of seeing double, but not. By the time Tsuna is done grappling with the notion of spacetime, they're already standing in front of a mansion.

"You will not touch anything, you will not speak to any subordinates, you will not enter any area of the house uninvited," Mammon recites. "You will dine with us because I really can't be bothered to skip meals to babysit you. There are currently only three primary officers here. They are the only ones permitted to give you directions, orders, information, or personal advice."

It's like the Disciplinary Committee's exact mirror. Disconcerting.

"The current leader is Superbi Squalo. He screams, and does so frequently. Don't get in a fight with him. I am Mammon; you do not have permission to enter my quarters. Our other members are out on jobs, and will likely be out on those jobs for the entirety of your stay, but Lussuria, the current Strategist, is available if you feel you need coddling."

"I love coddling," says Tsuna.

"We don't," says Hibari.

"Coddling's great."

" _Bark,"_ says Hatachi.

Mammon sails through the doors, and the two of them follow, with the guards trailing behind. The outside mostly looks like a big house with a bunch of windows, but the truely lavish nature of the structure is fully visible inside. A polished tile entranceway, leading into an enormous red-carpeted foyer punctuated by a massive staircase that curves up to the balcony lining the second-floor rooms. The wallpaper is a simple cream, but combined with the decal everywhere, it gives the whole thing an elegant aesthetic.

Leaning against the railing of the staircase is a man, in a suit. His black coat is lined with orange feathers, which doesn't look very much like a uniform. His hair is long, green, and shaved into a floppy mohawk. He's wearing shades indoors at night, which is cool on a level Tsuna could never hope to achieve.

"Hello, darlings!" He coos, descending with dainty, carefully-balanced steps. Tsuna discreetly checks the size of his heels. He sets them at roughly 'en pointe for dinner parties'.

"Lussuria," Mammon greets. "This is my subordinate and its current employer." They continue to say something in Italian.

"Goodness, don't be so impersonal, you'll hurt their feelings!" Lussuria turns to the two of them with a hand to his cheek. "Don't mind them, they're the type who hates making assumptions. Just assert yourself a bit, they're not being malicious or anything."

Tsuna isn't sure what he means — Japanese is essentially designed to be impersonal with strangers. He's been enjoying Mammon's attitude towards him, actually.

Hibari looks at Mammon. "Refer to us with respect."

Of course all Hibari heard was 'be assertive'. Geez.

"If you're comfortable with that," Mammon says idly.

"And ooh, look at _this_!" Lussuria crouches down to look at Hatachi. "Hello sweat pea!"

"His name is Hatachi. He is—" Hibari starts, but Tsuna is overcome by a wave of possessiveness and pushes forward.

"—My dog. Belongs to me."

"It was stolen."

"Repossessed. It's poorly trained, no one would miss it."

Lussuria looks up a the two of them. "So you would be the mama and papa?"

"I'm not a girl," Tsuna blurts, and then slaps a hand over his mouth. God he's bungling this disguise thing. Blowing his cover twice in a row. He's a travesty to the concept of faking an identity.

"No listed gender," says Mammon, and Lussuria's face clears as if this somehow explained something.

"Oh. I really was hoping for a friend in common…" Lussuria hums.

Tsuna narrows his eyes doubtfully. "Are…are _you_ a girl?"

"No, darling, but it's nice of you to consider it. I'm the feminine influence in this house! You've got similar phenomenon in Japan, don't you? Like the Nee-san of a community, you know?"

"Uh…Like…Okama?"

"Surely you've got a better word than that."

Tsuna doesn't? He's never paid much attention to alt cultures in general.

"Well, you can call me nee-san regardless, noodle-limbs." Lussuria examines Hibari carefully. "And would you look at this. _Definitely_ no noodles here. Just how much muscles do you have hiding in there?"

"Not a lot," says Tsuna, and Hibari smacks him.

"That's fine, little boys don't usually have a _truly_ delectable build anyway. You can always be strong without one, but that makes things so much less _fun_." Lussuria licks his lips.

Tsuna jumps between Hibari and Lussuria on instinct. It takes him almost nose-to-nose, or what would be nose-to-nose if he wasn't so short and Lussuria wasn't a fully grown adult wearing heels that could be used as short swords.

"Your heels are stupid," Tsuna bites out.

"Oh, I'm well aware, but I have to go to this ball with Squ-chan, and we have to behave. A sharp outfit is the closest I'm allowed to a threat, so I'm trying to pick out the most 'I'd slaughter you if they let me' ensembles. Heels are a no-go, I'm feeling; they may look impressive, but they don't mesh with my fighting style at _all_. I'm thinking of going in greaves. Mammon, do you think I'd look good in greaves?"

"Suku…chan," Tsuna mutters to himself, struck by the awkwardness. Cute in concept, but not a nickname that carries to other languages. Tsuna uses his power of analysis and determination to piss people off to consider alternatives. "…Supacchi."

Everyone stares at him.

"No one calls him Superbi," says Lussuria.

If Lussuria stops being a creep, Tsuna will call Squalo whatever the fuck he wants. Also, he forgot the guy's name like…twice in 24 hours. Nicknames are helpful. "Quacchan."

"Rocchi."

"Stop," says Mammon.

"Susucchi."

Lussuria squeals. " _Surokkun_."

Hibari is squinting at Tsuna, probably with resentment. He doesn't get to complain, because he doesn't understand when people are coming on to him, and thus doesn't understand the necessity of obfuscating all his (many) openings. Hell, if no one is going to bother to be Tsuna's straight-man, none of them are allowed to get mad at him! He is now the resident Boke and _no one has any power to stop him_.

"Super Sock."

Lussuria bursts out laughing and clutches Tsuna's shoulder to hold himself up. "Mammo-chan, I love this one! Why haven't you hired underlings before this?"

"I'm an illusionist. My work requires no preparation."

"Hire them to organize your perfume collection or something, it's so boring here!"

"As if I'd let anyone touch my hoards. Come." Mammon drifts upstairs.

"Oh, fine, you little killjoy. You, what's your name?" Lussuria gestures to Tsuna.

"Ha…Hachiko," Tsuna mumbles.

Hibari shoots him a glance. His eyes go from him, to their dog, and then back again.

And he smirks.

Tsuna feels proud he impressed Hibari with the subtle little joke for about half a second until he realizes that a Hachikou reference is just calling himself Hibari's loyal pet, which is the real reason for the satisfied look on his face. Hibari would never laugh at a joke he himself didn't make. Tsuna wants to punch him, but he kind of walked into that one.

"If you ever want to chat, I train in the west wing on the first floor. Drop by, won't you, Hacchan? I'm _itching_ for fresh meat."

Tsuna isn't even sure Hibari would let him duke it out with someone else, and the way that fact makes the comment just slides right off him leaves him with nothing but the idea of the nickname to actually think about.

 _Hacchan._ It's a common enough nickname, but the idea of being called it at all is ludicrous. One, not his name. Two, Hana. Three, he only calls Hana that because he knows it pisses her off. Having his insult parroted back to him in the form of a friendly pet name is bad enough, but Hana isn't _here_ to comment on the re-contextualizing of the name. Hana is back with everyone else, in Namimori, learning about magic or some shit, and Tsuna isn't there to needle her, because he left Namimori behind. This trip was supposed to exist in a bubble, an isolated act of Leaving, and yet it's like his very presence has dragged all of Namimori here with him, unaffected by a continent of distance.

Tsuna bursts out laughing.

It's a nervous, high-pitched giggle, at first, but he's so shocked by the sound of it that it deepens into chortling that vibrates through him so fast he has to guffaw to let out the excess energy that somehow builds up even faster the more he lets it free. With a hiccup, he falls into peals of laughter that make him double over. They come out so hard that he has trouble breathing, and he eventually just starts wheezing in broken bursts. It continues with each breath, getting more and more unstable, until it's more sharp clicking noise at the back of his throat than laugh.

He rubs his burning eyes, and his hands comes back wet.

The humour sours instantly into fear, but when he looks, the dampness on his hand just looks like water. Tsuna is hiccuping too much to breath properly, but he takes a shaky breath and tries to recover. When he dabs his cheeks with the back of his hands, it comes off clear.

"You okay, hun?" Lussuria asks.

Tsuna belatedly realizes the hiccuping was sobbing. He blinks a few more tears out of his eyes and tries to wipe away most of the wetness with his sleeve.

"Uhm, no, I mean, yeah, it's just," he swallows down a thick feeling in his throat that would have made him whimper if he didn't, "apparently this happens a lot with trauma, I'm sure it'll go away eventually? Maybe?"

"You don't sound sure."

"This is very new to me." Tsuna sniffles and drags the fabric over his eyes with a frustrated little grunt.

"Oh, they're so upset, Mammon, leave the meeting for later."

"We need to meet Squalo _now_ ," Mammon says coldly. "We're not here to coddle the rookies."

"You said Lussuria is here to coddle. I like coddling," Tsuna remarks, but it's not to be. Hibari grabs him by his arm and starts hauling him up the stairs. Dammit. He turns to wave at Lussuria. "Bye, thanks for talking to me."

"Careful not to rub your eyes too much, you'll smudge your makeup!" Lussuria calls back.

"Oh, _dammit_." Tsuna fishes out his compact, which he cleverly decided to bring, and examines his face. The eye makeup held fast beyond accidental blending, but there are tear tracks in his foundation. Tsuna rubs at it with his hands until it smooths over. "Ugh, waterproof my _ass._ "

Hibari glares at him. "Why are you wearing it to begin with."

"You're not going to like the answer," Tsuna mutters.

Mammon takes them through about four hallways, going around from the side doors all the way to what Tsuna thinks is the middle of the backside of the house, where there are windows. The room in the centre of this hall has huge double doors with engravings in the wood that looks like it's been through three separate wars. It's all cracked around the hinges. It does not fill Tsuna with confidence.

Mammon knocks on the door in a pattern. After a moment, they enter, leaving Hatachi in the hall.

The maybe-boss perhaps-office is huge, probably twice the size of the Sawada's sitting room. It's got a lush carpet, a mahogany desk, all _kinds_ of bookcases, four reclining chairs each with their own little side tables, a glass coffee table between them, and wallpaper that is peppered with slash marks. Tsuna marks out a secret entrance by the mysterious pattern of wear on the bookcases, and decides he's going to open it if he gets the opportunity. That's _so awesome._ Also, if they want to keep a secret entrance secret, they should really repaint this wall some time.

Amongst the massive opulence of the office sits two people; one, a blonde woman writing on a clipboard, glasses slipping off her nose and blond hair slipping out of its loose folded ponytail.

Two, Superbi Squalo.

"Fucking finally," Squalo spits.

"What do you mean 'finally'. You still have to wait another two days for the meeting," the blonde sneers.

"I'm not going to let some stranger I don't know shit about near the boss when he can't kill them himself. Who is this."

Mammon hands him the paper Tsuna filled out. Squalo's eyes flick from him, to Hibari, to the dog. Tsuna sniffles a bit; he had only been crying for about thirty seconds, but he's still a bit gooey inside. He hopes Squalo thinks he's sick.

"Where's his paper?" Squalo gestures to Hibari with a nod of the head.

"Bird Progeny," Mammon says cryptically.

The pen in the blonde's hand snaps clean in two.

" _Perché,"_ she murmurs at her pen.

Squalo narrows his eyes at Hibari. "Are you even allowed out of Japan?"

Hibari blinks at him. "No."

"The fuck are you doing out of Japan then?"

"I don't take orders from anyone."

Squalo throws his hands up and gives Mammon a bewildered look. Tsuna's eyes flick to the blonde, who is still staring, shellshocked, at her pen.

"Fucking…what does your pet freak do, exactly?"

"Secretary," Hibari says, "show him."

Tsuna says " _nngghnnahnnn_." He's not sure a single layer of makeup will prevent Squalo from making the connection between 'unholy abomination murder machine' and 'unholy abomination black hole engine', but he also doesn't really like disobeying Hibari's orders, generally. It was originally because Hibari is pants-shittingly terrifying, but now Tsuna thinks he just likes being told what to do.

Hibari narrows his eyes at him.

Tsuna fiddles with his thumbs. "Just, uhm, checking, you _do_ need me, right?"

"Well I don't fucking know that until you _show me,_ you little baby trash. Chop chop!" Squalo claps his hands together to emphasize his point.

Tsuna rubs his temples. What a pain. With a put-upon sigh, he extends his palms, and thinks, with as much clarity as possible, the most depressing thought he has in his mental archives, which zooms right past 'let's just stay in Italy forever and start a new life and dwell on the fact at least two of his friends will know he intentionally abandoned them', which is too positive to do anything, and lodges directly into 'this apartment is empty and the relief is a band-aid on the agony of loneliness'.

His entire head feels like its plunged in ice, something like terror without the dancing nerves along his spine and clutching his heart. His breathing comes in short, and he feels like he has to push out a clog just to get the Flames to show up on his hands. He can hear Hatachi scratching fervently at the door.

" _Cazzo_!" Squalo barks, reeling backwards.

" _Beeindruckend_ ," says Mammon.

"Wao," says Hibari, with so much pleasure that Tsuna preens. (Internally.)

" _What the fuck is that?"_ Squalo hollers at Mammon, who plops themselves on the nearest seat.

"Their Flames have been severed from their willpower, and for whatever reason, they manage to stay conscious despite this. If a typical Aura manifestation is a 'Dying Will Flame', this would be a 'Dead Will Flame'. They've _also_ managed to figure out how to weaponize it."

Squalo squints. "Fucking hell. Why's it look like horns?"

Tsuna frowns and touches the icy sensation on his temple. There's a stream of black bubbling ash rising from it. "Woah, what?"

"That happened after you told me you wanted to die," Hibari says, still looking smug.

"But…I _don_ _'t_ want to die." Tsuna frowns. "…Uh…do I?"

"You said everyone would be better off if you were dead."

"Oh, yeah, that makes sense." Tsuna looks up at Squalo's face and gestures generally at his head. "That was how I was sealed. Thumbs on my temples. I guess since the seal broke that's just…where it comes out now. Am I allowed to learn about Flames from you guys?"

" _Bird progeny,_ " the blonde women says suddenly, jumping to her feet, "an unnatural… _impossible_ Flame user, literally the most _valuable person in the mafia_ , if anyone found out! where did you…how did you…what are you going to…?!"

"Relax, we're not gonna throw any fuckin' coups or anything. We're going to have a reeeaaaal polite conversation with Nono, yeah? And at the end of it, whether he agrees we should all be friends again or not, at the end, _I_ _'m not going to be boss anymore,_ you got it? No fighting if we don't have to, so stop bitching for no reason."

The woman marches up to him and gets in his face. "I'm sorry, but that just sounds a little like _treason against the Vongola._ _"_

"Well they were nice enough to us the _first_ time we did it, weren't they?"

Tsuna looks between them nervously. "…Wasn't I here, to, er, de-escelate?"

"If they're determined to fight amongst themselves, you can just help me enjoy my lunch breaks," says Hibari.

"Wow, thanks," Tsuna says flatly. He de-activates the Ash and shudders at the sudden change in temperature.

"And what are you going to do with _the most valuable possible entity in the mafia_ after you're done?"

"Well, I'm not exactly an authority on that, considering I'm not gonna be the fucking boss, am I?"

"Is this a punishment?" The blonde asks Mammon desperately. "Is this because I told you I liked the idea of Xanxus?"

"We probably would have lied to your face if you hadn't, yes," Mammon says with just as much smugness as Hibari.

"If you're done speaking with us, I'd like to see our rooms," Hibari himself demands.

"Fine, get out," Squalo waves with a rigid hand Tsuna only just now realizes is a prosthetic. "Are they eating with us?"

"Yes."

"Get their diets for breakfast, then. Don't expect me in till late, I'm about to show this trash-heap why you _bring weapons_ to a fight," Squalo snarls towards the blonde.

" _Okaybye."_ Tsuna quickly bounds out of the room.

Safe! _Safe!_ Completely safe! Guy didn't even give him a 'do I know you'! Holy shit!

Well, he probably should have expected that, maybe, considering his own father couldn't recognize him, but his father hasn't seen him in three years and Tsuna was roleplaying as a vapid lovestruck airhead. But whatever! Safe!

"I don't understand the situation. He was referring to a change in authority," Hibari says to Mammon.

"Yes. The Vongola Ninth has banished our previous employer, and extenuating circumstances have led us to try our hand at negotiating for his return. Follow me."

Hibari makes meaningful eye contact with Tsuna, who isn't sure why, but he's so stoked he's allowed to be in the scary murder mansion without threat of harm that he beams back at him.

Hibari pinches his cheek and yanks. "Manners."

" _You_ don't have any."

"Have I been nothing short of polite?" Hibari tilts his head.

Hmmmm. Good question. He hasn't, actually. Which is _weird._ "When have you ever been polite to _anybody_?"

"I'm in a very, very good mood." Hibari gives him a smug look. "Congratulations on your effectiveness."

Tsuna shoots him a sheepish smile back. "Kusakabe-senpai's going to like it, I think."

"He would. I can improve effectiveness with the committee. Taking constant nap breaks was getting tiresome."

"Not…really what I meant, but okay."

They turn back to Mammon who is, rather creepily, floating backwards while staring intently at them. Tsuna gives them a smile too, but they just turn around.

Tsuna clears his throat and tries to look professional, but he's overcome by the strangest feeling that he's missed something significant.

…Oh well. He's sure it can't be worse than any of the shit he has to put up with following Hibari around.

* * *

Federico household, hour seven: bedlam.

Oh, it started out innocently enough. Federico started in on breakfast, Bianchi arrived early, Shamal fawned over her, almost got poisoned, switched tracks to seducing her with his fresh gossip, and Yuuma dropped by to pick up Toru. Federico keeps starting shit with Reborn; apparently, Reborn had decided to drop the 'poor, delicate baby teen who could not possibly take on the Vongola is _depending_ on you to be the Tenth' bomb at some point, and it's made Federico a little edgy.

"Oh yes, your brother is doing wonderfully," Shamal says, stirring his tea while smiling charmingly at Bianchi. "You don't have to worry about not checking in on him while you're in Japan, he's surrounded by good friends. In fact, I helped him treat his friend, who almost died. It was very dramatic."

Bianchi, who was preparing to dunk Shamal in acid before he uttered the name 'Hayato', leans over the table, eyes gleaming with emotion. "He's happy? Are you sure?"

"Well, he didn't try to attack me and willingly asked for help, so whatever it is, he's willing to sacrifice his pride over it." Shamal peers out the window. "Is Roxy around? Is she coming by today? Or should I go to the bar?"

Federico pulls on his suit for his part-time job as a tutor, seemingly oblivious to the broken arm. The man is so used to putting kids on his hip he slips into one-handed work with ridiculous ease. Squalo would like him, if Squalo didn't hate him so much. "Roxy walks with Toru on Thursdays and Sundays."

"Oh shit, I missed her?" He looks over his shoulder where Toru had left. Bianchi is cute and Shamal would love to gush endlessly about her glorious splendor, but also, she's _sixteen_ , and his strongest memories of her are of her as a snot-nosed brat. Maybe he should head by the supermarket. He feels like he really hit it off with that one clerk…

His internal day-planning is interrupted by an ear-piercing scream. Shamal instantly assumes it's Gi U, because it sounds young and he's never heard a voice like that before, but then Lambo comes flying into the kitchen into Federico's legs.

"Lambo? What's wrong?" He scoops the tiny little brat up and mops his face with his sleeve, oblivious to the fact he's ruining his clothes, because _oh no_ , a _child_ _'s feelings are hurt_.

Lambo just keeps screaming, on and on and on, until Shamal notices the very clear absence of Reborn in the room. He pokes around; he thinks Reborn might have left to ask Timoteo if he's permitted to explain his motivations, but…

In the sitting room, Reborn stands on the table, contemplating the house phone.

"Call for Federico?" Shamal turns back to the screaming, then to Reborn again. He puts two and two together. "Lambo was eavesdropping."

"And the officer I was talking failed to predict this possibility. The current generation has started to slack, a bit." Reborn places the phone on the table and hops down.

"What did he hear?"

Reborn eyes him up and down with a downwards crook of the mouth. "…There's been an incident. The entire Bovino family has been completely wiped out. Lambo Bovino is the last living member of his Famiglia."

* * *

"Thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four— why are there so many Bovino? I don't remember there being this many. I mean, I guess this many, but this is just the Youth Class. Where did you all come from?"

"Uhhhhh," says Mattia. He gestures generally at the group. "Usually we're all over the country and all, like with you in Grosetto, but there was this big event so we all had to be in the base. I mean, I'm _always_ in the base, but most of the kids here aren't, 'specially the Classics."

"Oh, duh. No wonder I had to get in by today. Where was I?"

"Thirty-four."

"Thirty-four…" His brother's hovers in the air, and lands on the head of the next child. "…Thirty…f…six, seven, eight…n…Forty-one children. This was poorly planned."

"It's okay, you can drop us off at our houses. Oh, wait! Do we have houses here?" Mattia skates circles around his brother. "So if this is another dimension that's like our dimension but only where _uuuuhhhhhhh_ the base exploded and everybody died, so does that mean like all our houses are gone too or can we go get them."

His brother, _Lambo Bovino_ (the elder), peers down the dusty road. "Wish I could have done this a little earlier."

"Huh?"

"Nothing, I just…mmmm. Hmmmm. Mmmmmmmmm." He collapses against the battery. "I'm not old enough to know how to herd forty-one children in the dead of night. How would the old man do it…guns, maybe? I don't have any guns. Eugh."

"Are you _really_ Lambo?" A kid — Mattia _thinks_ his name is Marco — asks suspiciously.

Lambo gives his hair a good nervous-looking yank, around where the tiny Lambo's horn weapons usually sit. "You're in a brand new dimension where the Bovino were erased from the world. You're standing in it. Right now? Why is _me being Lambo_ the thing you doubt?"

"Well yeah, but, that's just going from one place to another place. _All_ of our research in this base is about dimensions. You're saying _you_ _'re_ Lambo, who's only _five_ , and a _crybaby_ , but from the _future?_ Lambo sucks! He's snotty and sticky all the time and doesn't know anything and he sucks and he's like the only one not even here at the base! You're all dangerous and know everything and you're talking about _time_ instead of _dimensions_ , you're _so_ not the same person."

Mattia straightens. "Shut up! Lambo knows lots of things! You know when I first found him he was reading up on news stuff on the task computer? Because he's like, a dimension-traveler who works with his Bovino family to travel in dimensions but some dimensions are in different levels of time, so he _does_ do the same thing as everyone else, _and_ he let _us_ do it _too_ and he even brought us to somewhere were we could never get in trouble with all the Mature Class, so shut your mouth, _okay_?"

"And I'm _fifteen_ ," Lambo adds. "I'm _ten years older_ than your Lambo. Of course I'm going to suck less!"

"You look like a punk," says Marco, shaking dirt out of his long brown hair.

Mattia cannot believe Marco is being so rude. Lambo is doing so much stuff for them! He emptied out the charging room and gave everyone their equipment and then set up a…dimension…travel-y thing, Mattia thinks that's why he started from the technology room, because he had to set it up, putting those blinking red devices all over the building, and he did all that and then locked up the bunker. And then _BOOM!_ They're all in a cool dimension where the Bovino are all gone, so they can hang out and go on vacation for as long as they want (awesome), and Lambo can show them how they do it in Grosetto, and then go back home when they're done, and then—

"Man the Mature Class is going to be so amazed when they find out we know everything about everything," Mattia gasps. "They'll be like 'what! How do you know this thing we kept secret from you!' And we'll keep Big Lambo secret and we'll be like 'iunno guess we're just cool that way' aaaaaand they'll be like 'but we haven't even invented this cool thing you know yet' and we'll be like 'oh yeah actually the entire Youth Class is actually full of geniuses and we're more awesome than you?' And then they'll let us do whatever we want including _staying up past curfew._ "

"You're not going to wander off, right?" Lambo tugs at his hair. "You guys aren't the type to wander, right, I don't remember?"

Paolo, a little tiny Classic with a ponytail, raises his hand. "I don't wander!"

A bunch of them all raise their hands and declare they are not the type to wander.

"Thanks? Ah, man, we're like four kilometres off, aren't we. I can't even fit you guys on cars." He has a lot of Bovino body language even though he acts like he hasn't been around Bovino in years, like the way he closes one (half-hidden) eye and musses his hair when he's all exasperated. Pssh. Even if he _wasn_ _'t_ Lambo, he's still a Bovino, so _whatever._

"None of us know how to drive. You only get to when you're a Mature Class."

"Wow. Great. Okay, uhhhh." Lambo taps his finger nervously on the little yellow pacifier-looking bracelet thing. "We really didn't think this out, did we. Hm. Did anyone bring a cell phone?"

"We're not allowed to bring tech to bed."

"Yeah, but is anyone horribly irresponsible and prone to rule-breaking."

Pietro, a five-year-old Vintage with untidy electrum-green hair, raises his hand. Everyone turns to look at him.

"Master gave it to me for emergencies," he says quietly.

"Oh my god, your supervisor is one of those _boss_ guys, that's _so_ gross," a foreign kid yells.

"It's not gross!" Another shouts.

"Yeah it is because we're supposed to be family, _duh_ , why would your family act like he _owns_ you? Checkmate!"

"Who says _checkmate,_ that's so lame!"

" _You_ _'re_ lame!"

" _Shut up!"_

Fighting rises up amongst the crowd of them. Lambo quietly takes the phone and places a hand on Mattia's shoulder.

"Watch them with the older kids, okay? I'll buy us a limo rental."

"Can you fit forty-one people on one limo?"

Lambo looks over the screaming kids with a pinched face. "Uh. Yeah, I'll, y'know. Some kids can stand. Sit on laps. It'll work out."

Someone picks Pietro up and chucks him.

"Okay!" Says Mattia.

Lambo walks off into the shade of the trees, and Mattia runs closer to the massive crater where the Bovino base used to be, ready to mediate between the group.

Man, this trip is going to be _great_!

* * *

 **AN:**

For reference, the Bovinos are separated into three types of appearances: Classic (the ones that look exactly like Lambo, Mattia, or Romeo), Vintage (the ones that look like Pietro), and Average (the ones that all look like everyday kids).

 **Cultural notes:**

 _Hachiko_ \- Tsuna named himself after Hachikou, the famous dog who waited in the same place every day for years after the owner died.

 _Languages_ \- Mammon is from Liechtenstein and speaks German, and Squalo, obviously, cusses in Italian.


	3. Those Who Speak

**Warnings:** Sexual harassment

* * *

 **Chapter Three: Those Who Speak**

* * *

Haru has spent her life observing remarkable people.

It started with her sister, who did arts and crafts with her when she was little, back when she still wore a boy's uniform and didn't leave the house if she could help it. Then, after Fuyumi left, it was the girls at Midori Middle who sucked up all the attention, excelled at everything they did, and seemed to shine like stars.

Then it was Fuyumi again, except this time with guns.

The shining, remarkable things about Haru are specific and probably useless. Her crafting skills are top-notch, but there's not a lot of social leeway you can snap up with a professional's skill level in painting and paper mache. Sewing things like dresses takes a lot of focus and labour, so she can't really _create_ friends with it. Beyond her unusual hobbies, she doesn't have a lot going for her. She figured that'll improve in high school, when most people have stopped growing and started fixating on getting hot fashions on the cheap. Sewing isn't even her passion, model-building is. She's more likely to seduce the drama kids with her prop construction.

Haru hasn't had a real friend since elementary school, even if she gets along with her classmates. The most intimate she's ever been with another human being was acquaintances, like with Hana, who is at her sister's sometimes, usually just before they go out to the shooting range, and who she's never really tried to talk to. Friends seem beyond her, nowadays.

Haru liked the idea of Irie and Oogawa; they're quiet, well-tempered boys who had seem something Big, and weren't sure how to react. Haru thought she knew about Big things. She thought Fuyumi's airs of mystery and intrigue were a perfect reference point. Haru knows _all_ about criminals, so she was _certain_ she was in her comfort zone.

Hana inviting her into her inner circle with them sounded wonderful! They're a band of _magical teenagers_. It was like a manga. Haru could be helping! And learning about more Big stuff! And being relevant and making _friends_ and having something to contribute where she could really _shine_ —

But _Hana_ isn't the boss of the group, _Tsuna_ is (…whoever Tsuna is), and Gokudera is Tsuna's direct subordinate, and Gokudera is quite possibly the most criminal person Haru has ever met, and it occurs to her that maybe Fuyumi isn't as lawless as she previously thought.

The situation, part one: Oogawa meekly proposes that his family is actually quite well-informed about magic — "Flames, actually," Hayato haltingly corrects, "they won't take us seriously if we don't use proper names, so we have to talk about them the right way" — and if they want to do anything complex with their magic powers other than, well, manifesting magic powers, that's the best place to look.

Part two: Gokudera immediately takes this as an incentive to raid the local realty office. Haru feels a wave of dread about Oogawa's background. On the other hand, Oogawa doesn't like this plan either.

Part three: Oogawa has a tall Italian man waiting outside of the restaurant who _seems_ impressive, until he immediately loses Haru's confidence when Gokudera prompts him to raid the realty office, and he answers with "great, I'm an expert".

Part four: Gokudera has a gun.

"It's not a real gun," Gokudera assures her, inspecting the building he's about to break into. "I'm not a _barbarian_."

"It's full of tranquilizer, but it's not going to put anyone to sleep," says Irie, hands to the back of his neck and perched on a nearby bench, apparently deciding if Gokudera is going to break into a realty office full of yakuza and start shooting until they're willing to talk about magic powers, he's not coming. Hana is sitting next to him, because she's smart. "You need to measure doses on individual levels if you want to knock someone out with a tranq. They're not going to be very lucid, though."

Hana's friend slides in behind Gokudera and plucks the gun from his hand. "Well it's a good thing we won't be using it then, right?"

"HEY, WHAT—"

"No violence!" Sasagawa Kyouko berates. "And no being violent to _criminals!_ You're going to get hurt, acting rash like that! You're awful!"

"Oh, and I suppose _you_ have a better plan?"

She gestures widely at Oogawa, who is clinging to his Italian bodyguard's back. "We could _ask politely_."

Gokudera snarls at her, but still stuffs his hands in his pockets and nods his head at the building. Sasagawa claps her hands together and dances behind Oogawa so she can push him inside. He drags his feet and clings to the Italian's arm. Hana and Irie do not get up. Yamamoto drifts after Gokudera, which he's been doing since they left, and he's staring at the middle distance in a way that makes Haru wonder if he even understands where they are or what they're doing here.

The inside of the realty office looks like a realty office, as all realty offices do; the Akiyama are more business than land (though they do own an _offensive_ amount of land), and don't really need to run a racket like most small towns do. They have a loan office, she remembers from Fuyumi's slapshod description of the Namimori underworld; not loan sharks, because they're a cult of personality that would never take advantage of the people they're protecting (why bother, when simply asking directly gets you as much money as you need), but still full of big scary criminal men.

Haru knows all this second-hand. It occurs to her this isn't a great reference point.

Sasagawa holds Oogawa's hand and guides him up to the receptionist. "Hello! We'd like to speak to… _the boss_."

The receptionist raises her eyebrows. "Uhm?"

"We have a main family member! Oogawa, show her that you want to speak to the boss." Sasagawa clutches his shoulders encouragingly.

Oogawa makes a face. "…Can I…not?"

"You don't think they'll believe you, but you know that showing them your powers works," she replies matter-of-factly.

"But _I don_ _'t want to_?"

"Can I get a name," the receptionist interjects, bored.

"Oogawa Miki. Junko is my mom," he mumbles.

The receptionist leans back. "It's fine, I know you. Top floor."

Sasagawa turns to look smugly at Gokudera, who narrows his eyes at her. Yamamoto blinks slowly at the receptionist, like he's finally realized where he is, but hasn't formed an opinion about it yet.

They all cram inside the elevator. The Italian bounces on his feet, and looks down at the rest of them. "I've never met the yakuza before."

"You were in the _main family_ _'s house_. You met the _heir,_ " Oogawa whines.

"I'm Blackmarket. You think I give a shit about progeny or whatever? I'm talking _business._ "

Haru nods slowly, thankful someone has the exact same concept of criminals she does.

Gokudera snarls at the guy, though, so she tries to do it subtly.

There's not much on the top floor, with a grand total of three doors in one hallway. They open the wooden one. Inside is an office-meeting-room kind of thing, really big, and with a bookcase full of binders and a huge window. Sitting at the desk is a person with bright red hair shorn short and a tacky Hawaiian shirt.

"Can I help you?" The woman asks briskly.

Oogawa makes a small, thin, pathetic noise at the back of his throat.

"Oogawa Miki," says the Italian, gesturing to him, "wants his family's support in preventing his friends and allies from endangering themselves."

"Junko's kid! God, I never see you anymore!" The woman jumps to her feet and leans forward. "What's wrong with your eyes? Naoki'll fix 'em if you check in with him."

"I did. I just. I'm not good with them, and I don't want to activate them ever." He scratches under the bandages.

"Right, something something, you in Miyazawa, the important thing is that you're okay. Who are your friends?" She peeks at Haru and everyone else standing behind him.

Gokudera shoves himself forward. "I'm the _Student Council President_ of Koyama."

"Oh god, it's Kunihiro's brat," she mutters.

"I'm not Kunihiro's _anything_ ," he growls back, looking nervous.

"Yeah, after the shit he pulled in Miyazawa, probably? I guess you're Miki's man, now," she waves.

"I'm not his either! I'm _Sawada Tsunayoshi_ _'s_ man," Gokudera retorts.

The woman's face goes _blank_ , the kind of blank Haru's mom always gets when someone mentions Fuyumi and she has to swallow a reaction on short notice. Then she scrunches up her face at him. "…Nana's kid, yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"…I…I guess that's…in the family by association, why not." She collapses in her seat. "What do you need support with? Got some unsavoury characters on your tail?"

Oogawa shakes his head. "I'm, uh, I, w-we—"

"All of us are Flame Active for one reason or another. Also, that one is psychic." Gokudera shoves a thumb in Sasagawa's direction. She waves cheerfully. "We know what they are and what they do, but we don't have any reference points beyond that."

"Since when did we know what they do?" Asks Haru, who is struggling to keep on top of things at this point.

"Since I did my job, fuck you," Gokudera snaps back.

"He asked a friend of his to fill in the holes for him but he wants to confirm his information," Sasagawa says to Haru.

Gokudera whirls around. _"Stop fucking doing that!"_

"Doing what?"

The Italian gently leans back and slides a hand between Gokudera and Sasagawa.

The yakuza woman, to her credit, doesn't even acknowledge the scuffle. "Oh, you need a Flame user friend. Honey, of course you can ask me anything! As a family associate, it is basically your job to rely on us, am I right? But I doubt I'll be much use. Almost everyone in our family is a Sun or a Sky, and downtown tends to attract a lot of Lightnings. Right?"

"That's me and Hana-chan," Haru nods eagerly. "Aaaand, our Suns are…Oogawa-kun and Irie-kun. Then Gokudera-kun is a—" she freezes, realizing they haven't named it yet, and clumsily inserts a "R-Red—? Yamamoto-kun is a Rain, and we don't know what Sasagawa-chan is but it's probably a Mist."

"A Mist south of Japan? Are you _kidding_ me?" The woman squeals.

"I don't know about Flames. I just sort of know things, sometimes," says Sasagawa.

Yamamoto gives her a vague look.

Sasagawa blinks up at him. "He left the country."

Then she pauses, and frowns very deeply at the floor.

"Fucking…are we good? Do we get an interview? Can we talk it out with your freaky family?" Gokudera spits.

"Fine, fine, it's a slow day today, you know? You kids want tea? And uh, who the fuck is that?" She points at the Italian.

"Benedetto. He's my bodyguard so the Italian mafia will leave me alone," says Oogawa.

"God, those guys are freaks, right? So, I'm Yuna, nice to meet you, can I get some names? Protocol and all that. You know we'd never interfere with our own. You know that right?"

"Haru," Haru says, clipped and uneasy. No one has a good reaction to her being related to Fuyumi.

It unintentionally inspires the others to only give their first names. When Yamamoto is left, he's staring off into space, looking grim again, and Sasagawa names him, looking a little distant herself.

Yuna gets up to pour tea, and Sasagawa takes out her phone and starts pounding out a message at speeds Haru has never seen before. Her phone buzzes insistently.

"Gokudera-kun, when was the last time you spoke to Tsuna again?" She asks absently.

"Yesterday morning. He sounded like he was in a good mood."

Sasagawa looks blankly at him, then returns to texting.

"So, just tell me how much you know about your aspects, and I'll just talk about how we work with them. Why not start with Suns."

Yamamoto's hand flexes on the armrest of the couch, his grave expression narrowing to a pinpoint focus on Sasagawa's phone.

Haru's gaze slides to her fingers fidgeting in her lap.

Where _is_ Sawada Tsunayoshi, anyway?

* * *

It is with a heavy heart Tsuna must admit the truth.

He does not have the naptime capabilities Hibari has perfected.

This is the third time he's going to sleep. That might be 24 hours straight of sleeping with only 2 hours between… _Maybe_. Tsuna hadn't had a clock on hand for basically all of their time together. The point is, Hibari could probably sleep for a week straight if given the incentive to do so.

Tsuna is, unfortunately, all too human, and he's left wide-awake with an unconscious Hibari and a sleepy dog that doesn't want to hang out with him. They get one bed, so Tsuna sleeping at Hibari's feet seems to just be a thing they're doing now. Tsuna isn't sure how much he likes that. He wouldn't mind sleeping on a futon.

Well, regardless of where he sleeps, he's still _awake_. In a strange murder house. With nothing to do. The pent-up energy is like static, giving his already-fevered personality a crawling urge to move. If he could convert the visual of a worm desperately curling itself after being jostled into an emotion, that would be what he's feeling right now.

Tsuna pokes his head out of the bedroom to examine his surroundings without a pushy baby to distract him. It's more hallways, with more battle damage. His internal map puts him in 'east wing-ish, maybe, fourth floor'. He has no idea where Mammon is, Squalo is likely still fighting the blonde, and he's banned from interacting with anyone who isn't important. The odds are stacked against him.

But when has Tsuna ever given a shit about anything, honestly.

He makes a beeline west, intent on the oldest trick in the book; go in one direction until he hits a wall, and then go downstairs. There is literally no way he can get lost. On the way _back_ , sure, but he'll cross that bridge never and make someone else walk him back to his room.

There seems to be more night owls here, or at least people with schedules that have them up late. Tsuna has to pointedly avoid eye contact with at least six different people. A lot of them look a bit confused — Tsuna isn't sure why. Not that the confusion is strange, but that there's a lot to be confused about, and he has no idea what stands out to them. Tsuna is in his pajamas. Tsuna looks ten years old and is a good 34 kilograms soaking wet. Tsuna is a stranger in their halls. Tsuna hasn't taken his luxurious indigo wig off yet, so he has his hair very clearly done up in a bun that looks like it takes a good 3 hours to style every morning, while in his pajamas.

He's used to staring, though. A different kind, sure, and isn't it a novelty to have people look at him like he's just odd, instead of a threat or a disgusting trash heap? But he's used to it all the same.

He hits the wall and makes his way downstairs. He's not allowed to ask for directions, right? That's so unfair. How is he supposed to get anywhere? This is a murder mansion, what's stopping him from getting confused and wandering into a little corpse hut or something?

Well, probably not that. Based on Gokudera, who has mentioned it at least once in passing (or implied it and Tsuna allowed his admittedly pessimistic view of the workings of the Italian Mafia get the better of him), hitmen are just hired out — with clean-ups and everything — to get rid of obstacles, but have multiple utilities based on specialization. Tsuna can't imagine someone like Superbi Squalo discreetly taking out a hit on someone and stashing their body in a corpse hut. Destroy their house with them inside it to send a message, maybe. At a stretch, considering all the stray people here, Tsuna might wander into a personal morgue.

Regardless, their apathy towards murder is a huge comfort to him, since he's desperately in need of some shred of normalcy in the face of committing murder and 'murder is quite normal, actually' seems like a great place to unpack. Plus, Hibari's here, and Tsuna likes being where Hibari is. His aura of menace and petulant entitlement means that Tsuna rarely has to think about things like emotions, or basic social decorum.

Well, he's thinking about them now. That's no good.

Tsuna hits cement in his descent, the carpet turning into filthy grey stone. It's freezing against his feet, and the only thing down here is a door that Tsuna doesn't have to test to know is locked. This must be the basement, which means the floor above is the first floor, so he goes back up to bring him to what he's assuming is the floor he needs. He looks around, chewing his lip. Something…gym-like. With double doors.

"Looking for something, sweetheart?"

Tsuna shoots a wary look at a Varia official sitting on the staircase to the second floor, drinking, and doesn't answer.

"How old are you?"

Tsuna clenches his teeth and power-walks down a hallway that looks promising. _Is_ it a gym he's looking for? Lussuria had implied consensual ass-kicking and nothing else. It _seems_ like this would take place in a gym — he had sounded so sure that Tsuna would find it from his vague directions — but maybe there's a sign on a door or whatever. He hadn't really thought this through.

"C'mon, newbie, don't give me the cold shoulder. We can play nice."

Tsuna involuntarily draws himself up when the drunk man from the stairs approaches. He doesn't turn to look, and he doesn't stop walking. He eyes the corner turn at the end of the hall intently, a simple objective to carry him from this situation to the next one.

Unfortunately, Tsuna's stride is short, on account of him being a tiny middle-schooler who started puberty two months ago, and the man's stide is wide, on account of him being a relatively tall adult. He catches up with Tsuna's brisk pace effortlessly.

"I heard. You must be the Hachiko."

Tsuna's gaze remains firmly ahead.

"We love new blood. Don't need to be nervous! We're sociable!"

Intellectually, Tsuna recognizes this behaviour from what Kyouko has been getting since she started puberty — harassing women to see them lose their light, to see them buckle under your masculinity, or whatever. The kind of stuff you can't do to children without looking like a freak, but makes you look dominant and assertive in front of anyone you could call a woman. _I_ _'m stronger than you, I outrank you._

Regardless of the Important Varia Officials treating him with a bizarre kind of cordiality you only really get out of the kind of people who talk about honor and resolve their grievances with scheduled duels, he's basically dressed as a girl, even in his gender-neutral (albeit a bit oversized) button-up and trouser pajama set. He know this is just harassment of a girl for the sake of it. But the part of him that spent two years trying not to flinch when his supposed friend gave him a friendly arm rub (and seeing in his eyes that he knew it bothered him) is screaming _you know what else arrogant power-play jerks do to young girls?_

Even if Mammon hadn't banned Tsuna from interacting with these people, he still would have stayed silent like this. His crisis management leaves a lot to be desired, and he's having a huge, hyperventilating crisis.

"Figures Mammon's first under would be a frigid bitch."

Tsuna is anticipating the corner of the hallway with a blind, panicked urgency, though he doesn't know what he expects to find past it; gym doors? More Varia grunts? Lussuria himself?

He picks up his pace just before he meets the edge, and his heart pounds in the rising action of it, but just before he could see what the next hallway contains, the drunk grabs his arm.

He doesn't think; he just remembers _threat_ and _move_ and his body responds with a helpless flinch that ends in a confused stumble. He makes a noise Kyouko would call keening to be kind, but it's ugly and warped to his own ears. His breathing is thick and wheezing and tears prickle at Tsuna's eyes when he realizes how much of his frailty he showed. _No no no no no no_ _—_

The man isn't as drunk as he thought, looking at him directly. No flush, no unfocused gaze. Not a big shock, just an uncomfortable fact. You don't have to be drunk to terrorize your lessers.

"You listening to me?"

He jostles Tsuna, and it's intimidation, but it's not the good kind of intimidation where Hibari stares at him for a minute and a half and tells him cat ears are just an aspect of their working relationship now, but the kind where the hyperventilating is no longer figurative. He feels like he's doing a decent job of understanding he's only being bullied, and he's not entirely sure why he's suddenly so scared.

Maybe he's just scared of everything now.

"What are you, retarde—"

The last time Tsuna let someone bully him he ended up hospitalized, so he does the most reasonable thing he can think of and bites the man's hand as hard as physically possible.

He's aiming for pain, not mauling, so it's not as bloody as Zeni, but the guy lets go regardless. Tsuna swiftly follows that up with a kick to the nuts, a self-defense classic.

When the Varia underling is on the ground spilling alcohol everywhere, Tsuna decides he really may as well, just in case the guy can recover faster than Tsuna can find Lussuria's ill-defined training location, so he slams his foot into the man's stomach hard enough to crush his toes through his fuzzy slippers, and brings his heel down on his nose for good measure.

Then, just because he's mad, he spits on the guy's bleeding body and continues on his way.

He was right about the gym, thankfully. A conspicuous pair of double doors take up the centre of the right-hand wall of the next hallway. Tsuna jumps back to his original trot and breaks out into a half-run by the time he's within arm's reach, purely out of nerves. His foot is sore, but he asserts dominance over it because bringing down that guy would be less cool if he had to limp after kicking in the douchebag's abs.

Tsuna considers how he might get in trouble, and then reasons that there is literally nothing they can do besides outright murder him, which seems extreme for beating up a grunt. Besides, he's valuable. The way the blonde was going on about it, he's practically the magic equivalent of a nuke. He'll live.

Tsuna slides past the double doors, into a gymnasium twice the size of the one at his school, looking high enough to take up three floors. There's two boxing rings, a hell of a lot of mats, and a section of floor filled with enough scorch marks and gouges to tell him that it probably has something to do with duels. Or sparring?

Speaking of sparring, Lussuria is here!

He's fighting with another Varia grunt, a woman with cropped ashy blonde hair, and a few others are either watching or using the training equipment ringing the arenas. All of them are wearing brightly-coloured form-fitting workout clothes. The youngest among them looks fifteen minimum. Tsuna feels like a shrunken little gremlin in here.

Lussuria glances back to spot him. "Oh, Hachiko-chan! Happy you could join us!"

Tsuna tries for a smile. "…I, erm. I haven't really had a chance to do…sparring things, recently."

"Do you have any combat training?" Lussuria hops the stage and walks up to Tsuna.

"N…No…? I-I mean…I guess I'm a bit scrappy." Tsuna's go-to in a fight is rapidly becoming 'bite them real hard and do something that hurts', which he isn't sure will work with someone like Lussuria, who is _absolutely ripped_.

"I doubt you'll do much fighting with a boss like Mammo-chan, anyway. How's your subterfuge?"

"I met my own dad in disguise and made him ignore me?"

" _Perfect!_ Come on, sweetheart, let's get your self-defense skills dusted off." He picks Tsuna up like he really _is_ ten, and plops him into the ring. The blonde Lussuria had been fighting is giving him a terrified side-eye Tsuna has only seen in dogs about to bite.

"Is this really a good idea? How old is she?"

"Hachiko-chan is old _enough_ , believe me," Lussuria says dangerously.

The woman backs up and slips out of the ring, now giving Tsuna an intensely pitying look. Tsuna gulps.

"Okay, make a stance!" Lussuria cheers.

Tsuna doesn't know stances, but he feebly tries to copy the forms Ryouhei had practiced while Tsuna had visited all those years ago. Lussuria laughing in his face doesn't encourage him.

"Oh, darling, no, your arms are too flimsy for plain boxing, though I appreciate the focus. You said you're a scrapper, right?"

Tsuna drops his pose and nods meekly.

"So if we're starting from boxing, let's kick you off with Krav Maga. It's an Israeli style. Lots of elbows, all instinct."

"I don't know if there's any schools for Israeli martial arts in small-town Japan," Tsuna mutters.

"Well, I'll ship you off with some video tutorials, you'll figure something out." Lussuria reaches out to touch Tsuna, who is almost hovering with uncertainty, but he starts with his arms; posing him properly for the kata. Tsuna eases back and lets him do it.

"How many martial arts do you know?" Tsuna asks quietly.

"Plenty! I'm a master of Muay Thai, though. Lots of knees in that one. Now, Krav Maga is good for the kind of person who fights desperate. It's all about assuming you're already at a disadvantage, and you need to get away from the threat. Not my type of style, obviously, the Varia is all about crushing enemies, with missions that have a _very_ low likelihood of failure — for appearances, you know — but for a bitty skin-and-bones thing like you, you don't have a choice."

Tsuna thinks back to two minutes ago, where he beat up a guy who was trying to be scary, and shakes his head.

Lussuria uses his feet to put Tsuna left-leg-forward, and what seems like another boxing stance.

"Shift your weight back and forth?"

Tsuna does so.

"Side to side?"

Tsuna obeys.

"Okay, now bounce around for a minute, I'll get some hand wraps. Don't have your feet leave the ground, and don't overextend, it'll throw your balance."

Lussuria hops out of the ring, leaving Tsuna bouncing in random patterns like a fighting game character. His sleeves wave awkwardly as he moves, but he doesn't think there's any form-fitting workout clothes for him around. Maybe a tracksuit, if they have one. He should ask.

Lussuria returns with said wraps, and does Tsuna's hands up. He's a lot slower than Kyouko is at wrapping up her brother.

"Just because you shouldn't overextend doesn't mean you should wobble in place. Come on, tilt a bit more." He grabs Tsuna's hands and tilts like a pilot tilting a plane. Tsuna awkwardly follows him, back and forth. "There you go. Let's work on moving while you're holding a stance."

Lussuria works on him for the next half-hour, seeming amused by Tsuna's trepidation and lack of confidence. He has yet to do anything creepy, or even that disrespectful, which is heartening. Soon, Tsuna is working with his elbows and being told his kicks are pathetic and entirely dependent on how well he aims, on account of the fact he has sticks for limbs. He's shown the weak points he should strike for, and then spends another hour just working on his forms for muscle memory's sake.

After Tsuna has worked up a sweat, Lussuria pats him on the back, _hard,_ in a way eerily reminiscent of rambunctious Disciplinary Committee members. "You need something better to fight in. Janet, don't we have spare clothes?"

"Uhh," says Janet, who looks at Tsuna, and then at Lussuria's towering form.

"A T-shirt will do, Janet," Lussuria sighs.

Janet raises her eyebrows and bounds off to fetch new clothes. Tsuna slides out of the ring to go to the water cooler and down three cups in one go. He pours the fourth over his head.

"No stamina," Lussuria sighs.

Tsuna pours another cup down his shirt in response.

Janet gives him his T-shirt and sweats, and Tsuna changes into them. They're not as big as Tsuna thought they might be. When he returns, Lussuria is putting on what looks to be metal kneepads. The Varia grunts are all giving Tsuna pitying looks. Some of them make a cross over their chest.

"What are those…?" Tsuna asks quietly.

"My weapons. We're going to spar."

"Do…do I get weapons?"

Lussuria gestures to the table next to the cooler, which has hard plastic arm and knee pads. Tsuna notes that these are not metal. Even the knuckledusters are plastic. Not entirely comfortable with fighting a trained professional wearing metal kneepads with plastic equipment, Tsuna fishes out his own knuckledusters from his pajamas.

When he's prepared, he sees Lussuria grinning at him. Tsuna gives a smile back, a little more confident this time.

They go through stretches, most of which feel more like yoga poses than warm-ups, and take their places.

"I wish everyone else's underlings were as obedient as you are," says Lussuria mournfully, "I always have to break them."

And with that, he attacks.

It's strangely reminiscent of Hibari attacking. There's such an overwhelming _pressure_ that everything feels telegraphed a minute ahead. It's nothing like the bullies breaking him in an alley or the grunt towering over him; hell, he doesn't even really need to think about it. He mostly just focuses on good footwork.

The fact this isn't coming out of nowhere and isn't being done with his incredibly scary boss helps. Sure, Hibari isn't really all that scary lately, but it really made him sweat, as cool as Infinite Dodge Powers are in theory.

"Offense," Lussuria reminds him.

Tsuna's cheeks burn. "Oh. Sorry." He waits for an opening and starts dishing out quick aimed strikes. It doesn't matter how hard you hit a face, as long as you hit it in the right place. Having a ring of metal wrapped around your fists also helps.

Lussuria is a professional, though, and Tsuna is an under-trained middle-schooler. None of the strikes hit. It ends up being a ten minute dodge match, with brief rest periods of circling each other, which are presumably only there so Tsuna doesn't collapse.

"Your strikes are so floppy," Lussuria complains. "You're going to snap your arm in half before I get to it."

Tsuna flushes and backs up. Lussuria provides a slow-motion example, which Tsuna is careful to mimic.

"Again."

The match goes on _forever_. Tsuna's getting better at moving, at least. Lussuria seems to be having fun with Tsuna's inhuman capability to dodge anything he does, even his quick strikes. He doesn't do a lot of them, because if he goes over twenty strikes in under five seconds, Tsuna's exhaustion levels get unmanageable. They have to have been fighting thirty minutes when Tsuna is too tired to move. He collapses to the ground and moans "give".

"Not a style designed for duels, but good work for your stature," Lussuria hums. He turns to their audience. "See, this person right here is what I mean when I say 'making concessions'! I'm only ruthless for fools, darlings!"

Tsuna rolls over to peer at him. "Why do you do that?"

"Hm?"Lussuria twists his torso to look at him.

"When you talk about me. You phrase stuff weird."

Lussuria looks confused for a moment, but seems to get it. "People don't typically avoid listing their genders when they fit comfortably in it."

"Most people would just leave it up for correction, wouldn't they? Or like, ask? What my gender is?"

"Putting the onus on the unsure is how you ruin plans and create miscommunication." Lussuria comes up to him and squats there. "You'll find a few people aren't too quick to assume, here, but I think the only people who are this conscious about it are me and Mammo-chan. For a variety of reasons."

Tsuna folds his arms and buries them in his slightly damp armpits. "I'm not really…I'm not gender-confused, or an okama, or whatever. I just— I got flustered."

Lussuria chuckles. "If you say so. Not being one or the other is also a gender, though."

Tsuna blinks. "What?"

"You're so terribly average, aren't you. Let's see…" Lussuria claps his hands together. "Let's get as basic as possible using my background as an example. There's entire subcultures about men taking on the character and vibrancy of femininity, but communities like that attract regular women who want practice being themselves, or even just people trying to break out of their shells. It's always so vague, I just try not to assume if they don't say anything concrete. Mammo-chan is…a bit more extreme on that end."

" _How?_ "

"It sounds the same in Japanese, I doubt you'd notice. I hedge my bets on how people want me to talk about them, but Mammo-chan refuses to identify people at all. They'll talk about you like some implacable entity until someone — like you said — corrects them. They want you to admit to your reality. Absolutely absurd. It's the illusions, I think, it really got to the lot of them."

"Illusions?" Tsuna flips onto his stomach. "That's the magic, right?"

"Goodness, they don't tell you anything. Come on!" Lussuria picks Tsuna up like a sack of potatoes and throws him over his shoulder. A Varia grunt sets up two folding chairs, and the rest occupy themselves with two new matches, which have them all screaming at each other over. Lussuria dumps Tsuna into a folding chair and sits in the other one.

"Well, you see, basic Flame mechanics; the planet is coated in Aura. Seven colours of it. Us regular Flame users pull it from the air and burn it using our energy as humans. Illusionists are positively _broken_ , though, they just reflect Flames onto the atmosphere instead of taking it. It's so different from actual Flame powers that they've existed for centuries before any unified concept of using Flames."

"Uh, wow."

"So these illusionists had a culture _loooooong_ long long long before anyone has any concept of burning the magic in the air, so Mammo-chan's coming from _centuries_ of them being isolationist weirdos who bend reality. It's not their fault, really. But all of them, they _hate_ showing their true selves, and after a certain level of obfuscation it gets dangerous assuming anybody is anything, because you could be talking to a lamp."

"Like…like an actual lamp? Or an illusion of one?"

"That's the thing. _You never know_."

Tsuna blinks and stares at the reflection of the overhead lights on the floor. Then he shakes it off and frowns. "What's that got to do with gender again?"

"Japanese, Japanese…well, when counting things, including people and animals, Mammon refuses to use anything but the generic counter for objects. People get hideously offended about it. That's not exactly casual speech in, for example, English."

"But there's a _counter for people_."

"Oh, they know. They'll use it, if they're conscious of the situation. _Generally speaking_ , they are not actually talking to a lamp, and there's no one who would want to make them talk to a lamp. But sometimes they just don't bother. One time we had to have them walk by our feet, and they started referring to everybody with the counter for long objects. They're aware of the cultural gap, I think they just don't care very much."

"That seems like something Hibari-san would do," Tsuna mutters.

"Does it? Sounds like they'd get along. _Anyway_ , I don't have to be vague, if you want me to treat you as a boy or a girl or neither, feel free to say so."

Tsuna's brows furrow. " _Neither_? Is that an illusionist thing too?"

"Neither is a gender," Lussuria dismisses, like this is some sort of everyday fact, like 'yes, you can put hamburger steak in a sandwich and it still counts as a sandwich, silly', which is something several Disciplinary Committee members are weirdly insistent about. "So is that kind of 'uhm' feeling, or even being a gender that happens to not be male or female. People just sort of made up gender, so it gets a bit touch-and-go as you distance yourself from it."

"I…hm." Transgender people exist, Tsuna is pretty sure? And trans people couldn't exist if it was just set up from birth, so…Lussuria is… _presumably_ within the _realm_ of correct? "I…believe you? I never really thought about it."

"Everyone should. You do the weirdest things just because people tell you stuff like 'oh, boys should be like _this_ '. 'Oh, if you're a girl, gotta be like _that_ '. Terrible nonsense."

"I wouldn't know. Mostly people tell me I'm very small and uncomfortable to be around," says Tsuna.

Lussuria makes a face like he's not sure if he should pity Tsuna or not.

Tsuna checks the clock to save him the trouble. "It's only been an hour and a half?"

"Trying to burn time?"

"Yeah, I've been doing a lot of sleeping." Tsuna feels like he's recovered enough to lean over and fill a Styrofoam cup full of water, once to dump over himself, another to drink.

"Here's a thought, a bit random: why don't you have any clothes that actually fit you?"

Tsuna gives him a dubious look over his shoulder. "I…only brought one bag with me…?" And had, quite stupidly, left his original clothes with that asthmatic Koyama girl.

Lussuria giggles and rests his chin on one of his hands. "Here's another thought! Have you ever met someone with _access to their own personal tailor at one in the morning_?"

* * *

Lambo works his jaw, feeling frozen in time. The informant shifts from foot to foot.

"Is…is that everything?"

"No. Yes— I don't know. I guess. How's Mafia Land this season?"

"In perfect order. Things have cooled off since Colonello started maintaining the back of the island."

"Mmm." That's a problem.

The informant leaves him, and Lambo leaves too, if only to avoid leaving forty-nine Bovino children unattended. He tugs at his hair anxiously. He came here because of the exalted death of Byakuran Gesso, but things are… _weird_. He's pretty sure some of this never happened when _he_ was five years old, but apparently, he did more than just time travel. Logically it makes sense — he came here specifically because it isn't like his timeline — but emotionally, it's weird and he doesn't like it.

Especially the news about Zeni. In Lambo's time, everyone made a big old deal about how the Vongola Sealing Ice ("Zero Point Breakthrough", the old man keeps correcting, and Lambo keeps ignoring him, because 'Sealing Ice' is what you call it if you're not dumb and pretentious) was the only thing that could even hope to kill the guy.

Here, it just sounds like someone dropped in and beat him up.

 _Bizarre._

The consequences are immediate and staggering; The Bambino Beelzebub losing his boss means he won't bother being a phantom thief anymore, so Lambo has lost his leads, and hearing how many bad people are dead and good people are alive, he can't help but wonder why he should even bother following 'leads' anyway. He's only here because there's nothing to go home to. Maybe here is fine.

Lambo's fingers dance along the surface of the yellow pacifier tied around his wrist.

The winery's been burned.

The old man is dead.

Everyone he cares about is gone.

There are forty-nine children waiting for him just down the road, and two hours ago, he murdered their entire family.

There's no misery for him here.

He's stricken with the thought that maybe, just maybe, he's collecting a bunch of children just for the sake of having something to do. Just for the sake of not having to think about how much loss really hurts.

Oh well. Cloud is right out, but he knows where to find the Rain.

"Alright kids, who wants to go to an amusement park!"

* * *

 **AN:** I feel like Mammon's background makes this universe more AU than making everyone 13 instead of 12 ever was, ruining my 'as long as I'm not directly contradicted I have the power to do whatever the hell I want' street cred, but also the idea of illusionist communities is _so goddamn fascinating_ to me. It's a bit awkward to explain to Tsuna, since there's no such thing as third-person pronouns in Japanese, but Lussuria is basically telling him Mammon instinctively falls back on 'it/its' pronouns unless they actually think about who they're talking to.

Also Lussuria's character profile in the latest Amano artbook inspired 99% of his characterization in this fic. If you are in this gym you _better_ be ready to be hospitalized for the glory of training, maggot


	4. Those Who Understand

**Chapter Four: Those Who Understand**

* * *

Lussuria is glamour incarnate. Not just in his fashion choices, but his sense of aesthetics in general. His bedroom is so gaudy a love hotel would call it 'a little much'. Most of it is gold and red, and there's a bunch of serpents all over his furniture. There's a bearskin rug; it looks like it was a monster, and Tsuna has no doubt Lussuria killed it himself.

Lussuria carts him over to the walk-in closet, which is a room in of itself, with a wall dedicated to shoes (most of them gorgeous flat-soled boots, and the ones with heels are thick and wide), and more coats than one human being could ever need.

"There's a ball coming up," Lussuria says as he pushes Tsuna along, "and usually I dress up whoever's coming with me on jobs, but this time around we only need Levi's men because all of us are going, big tragedy, so I'm glad I get to dress _someone_ up."

"What kind of ball is it?"

"Peacock ball. A bunch of extremely powerful people dress up and try to intimidate each other. We're the Vongola's secret weapon."

"Oh." Tsuna touches the velvet fabric of one of the coats. "What's the Vongola?"

Lussuria bursts out laughing, deep and husky and good-natured. _"Really?"_

"I'm a civilian. I only know they're mafia and they own land in Japan. They're really important, right?"

"Good lord. Okay, listen, I need you to retain this; the Vongola is the most powerful mafia family in South Italy, and one of the most powerful families in the _world_. They say the family ate the criminal underbelly of Sicily whole and sprouted from its own distended belly. Have you heard of the weather associations for the Flames, yet?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. There's, uhm…special names for the Aura, right? Like, uh…Sage's Aura." He pauses. "And…Cloud." He doesn't remember where he's heard that one. Gokudera, right?

"Hachiko-chan, _no_ ," Lussuria says with so much pity Tsuna is offended. "The Auras have definite names — in Europe, anyway — but we don't refer to them that way, in the mafia. We refer to Flames by _weather_. And we associate them by weather because of the Vongola." He takes out two smaller suits, both clearly too big for Tsuna. "The Primo — the first boss, you know — he was described as a man who had a heart like the sky, and his closest companions were the weather that filled it. But they each had their own different Flame aspect, one of each, so fast-forward twenty years and the terms we used to describe _them_ are used to describe _Flames in general._ Illusionists hate it."

"That's pretty prolific," Tsuna murmurs.

Lussuria hums in agreement. "Now, what kind of clothes would you like?"

Tsuna tilts his head back and forth. "…I like…bright colours."

"Darling, we have _so_ much in common. So do you like to look feminine?"

"No—" Tsuna holds a hand up, and then curls his fingers as it shrinks back into his lap. "…I…I don't mind fancy or pretty things…I don't like to dress up. Not like that."

Lussuria tilts his head. "Really?"

"I'm…"Tsuna bunches up until his face is hidden behind his knees. "I guess makeup is nice, but when it comes to looking girly, I don't like it. Or…I don't dislike it. But, the point of doing it is because it feels like something that doesn't have anything to do with me. It feels like a costume. It feels false. And that feels good…I guess."

"You have fun in drag?"

"Oh. Uh. Yes." Tsuna forgot about drag queens. God, that could have saved him so much mental energy if he had just said that instead. Weren't they talking about them earlier, too?

"Isn't it wonderful to be flexible like that?" Lussuria holds up a square of yellow silk to Tsuna's face and wrinkles his nose. "What's a forward-minded little thing like you doing with a stick-in-the-mud like that little bird boy, anyway?"

"What's a _murder pervert_ doing with a screaming moron like Squalo?" Tsuna snaps back defensively.

" _Murder pervert._ I usually get called one or the other," Lussuria muses.

Tsuna scowls. "Only perverts hit on teenage boys."

"Well, I suppose you're not wrong. But this is a good look, isn't it?" Lussuria presents his impressively muscled bicep. "The feeling of moving tissue, made heavy and strong, I can't stop thinking about it. Doesn't it just send shivers down your spine imagining them slowly coming undone, rising with the gases of decomposing tissues before finally collapsing in a sublime release? Every time I see the roll of muscle underneath skin, I can't stop thinking about it."

It takes Tsuna a second to unravel the implications, and then he grimaces with disgust. "Oh, _ew_."

Lussuria pouts at him. "Even you don't like it?"

"You have a _muscle decomposition fetish_ , that's like, grosser than necrophilia somehow. How does that even _work_?"

"I like to touch it while it happens."

" _EW!"_

"Don't ask if you don't want to know, Hachiko darling." Lussuria flicks his hair and goes back to picking swatches.

"Don't say stuff that can easily be misunderstood then!" Tsuna's head pops up. "Muscle decomposition boners isn't the first thing _anyone_ would think of, 'cause it's _gross_ and _wrong!_ "

"Why not? No one likes getting hit on by people they don't like. It's like one of those power moves."

"He's a _guest_."

"Hmm. Well, you've got a point. I promise not to do it to guests." Lussuria holds up an off-white scrap. "By the way, has it occurred to you that when you've ceased being useful, we'll kill you?"

"I sort of figured I'm immortal if I stand next to Hibari," Tsuna says cattishly so he doesn't have to admit that it hadn't. "Besides, the blonde lady said I'm valuable."

"For anywhere between two months and a year, depending how long you can keep your Flames reversed without a seal locking them in place. Right now, they're a bit…" Lussuria holds the fabric flat on his hand and pokes a finger between two of his spread fingers to lift the fabric up by the middle. Tsuna was wondering why not having a seal anymore somehow gave him powers, but was too distracted by how cool it was to have powers. With an actual visual representation, the seal must have been keeping the…'cloth' of his Flames rigid.

"…But they'll find the edges and flip back again," Lussuria continues. He curls the same finger to flip the fabric in half from below to illustrate.

Tsuna frowns. He likes being special. "What'll that look like?"

"You'll just have your Flames back. Mammon can't figure out your aspect while you are, quote, 'a festering wound on reality', so who knows how _that_ will end up. I have no idea how being a Flame user with PTSD is different from being a backwards Flame user with PTSD, unfortunately."

"And you'll kill me." They won't, of course, because Hibari is here, and Hibari has not only decided Tsuna is one of his belongings but has also just recently learned how to hyperkill someone, but it's worth entertaining possibilities.

"No, honey, I'm just a little worried that this hadn't occurred to you."

"It has," Tsuna lies again, "And again, Hibari."

Lussuria smiles as he compares two more scraps of cloth. "You really trust your boss, don't you."

"I belong to him," Tsuna says matter-of-factly, arms folded.

"Historically, people owning people is considered a bad idea."

"It's a good idea when Hibari does it." It definitely isn't, but Tsuna has decided that if he denies that being loyal to Hibari is a stupid idea long enough, they'll stop asking. He was threatened!

"He seems to consider you a beloved pet."

"Hibari doesn't consider anything. He just does things arbitrarily and expects you to keep up. What are you doing?"

"Coords, darling," Lussuria cooes as he places two cloth pieces together.

Tsuna can't claim to understand fashion, so he stays obediently quiet after that.

"He reminds me of Xanxus," Lussuria says after what feels like forever. "I can't say I blame you for wanting to follow him."

That single statement fills Tsuna with a sudden and palpable sense of dread.

* * *

Tsuna is in Italy, which is troubling.

Kyouko must have picked it up some time before he left, because she cannot for the life of her expand on this. She doesn't know _when_ he left, or _why_ , or _how_ , or where exactly in Italy he even is. South? North? Are those separate regions or countries?

Kyouko has decided, at the moment, that Hibari must be with him, because that makes her feel a little better. And since Hibari is obviously with him, Kusakabe must know something. So she smiles placidly at Kouyou Yuna — who feels honour-bound to report this gaggle of Teenagers Who Know Too Much so they can be officially recognized as a member of the Akiyama-kai and restricted as such, but finds the situation (and Gokudera) too hilarious to bother — and says "I need to make a few calls."

Kouyou Yuna knows it's probably a bad idea, but the possibility of the situation becoming even more chaotic and uncontrollable than it already is amuses her, so she says "go ahead!"

Kyouko would go downstairs, but she's worried about the secretary, who might be suspicious that they've not been reported and indoctrinated yet, so she decides the hall outside will do. She grabs Takeshi by the wrist and tugs him out. Gokudera glares at her as she leaves, and she wrinkles her nose at him.

Kusakabe answers in two rings. "Sasagawa?"

"Tsuna and Hibari have _left Japan_."

"That's…" Kusakabe makes a choked off noise. "…I'm only saying it because you'll find out the next time you see me, but I'm relieved, and I trust Kyouya-san's judgement, but nothing about that decision makes sense in context and it says a _lot_ of strange things about Sawada."

"Do you know why they'd be in _Italy_ of all places? And why Tsuna's mafia dad wouldn't know that?"

" _Tsuna's father is in the mafia?"_

"Yes, Hana told me."

Kusakabe clicks his tongue. "Considering Miyazawa's…everything, I'd assume the Vongola took them, but it could be that Kyouya-san and Sawada followed the Vongola back. It might have been Sawada's idea, Kyouya-san isn't at peak health right now. Give me a moment."

Tapping. Without stimulation, Takeshi has receded into a featureless fog, thoughts indistinct and impossible to decipher.

Kusakabe returns. "There's a mafia…I suppose I'd call it a ball, in Italy. I doubt Kyouya-san would pass up an opportunity to either attend or crash it."

"Oh, good. Was he invited?"

"His… _family_ was. Neither of them ever go, but he's not…forbidden." Kusakabe makes a mild noise of distress. "It's…Implied by the fact he's not allowed to leave the country."

"That sounds very politically charged?"

"It is, and it won't be pleasant if he starts getting into fights. It's the dead of night over there right now, so you'll have to call them this evening. I'm not sure they'll pick up, if they've _escaped to Italy_ with nothing more than a _give us a few more days_ …It's like herding cats."

"It would probably be easier to convince them face-to-face..." Kyouko muses.

"There's no way to legally get you out of the country, though. Even then, it's too dangerous to go into a den of crime. By mafia ball, I mean a bunch of physically proficient mafia bosses clustering together to intimidate each other."

"Kusakabe-senpai, I'm psychic. I literally cannot be lied to."

"Don't latch onto that fact so fast, please."

"Too late! I need to fetch Tsuna, and probably stop him from joining the mafia!"

"I doubt he'd let himself be recruited without Kyouya-san involved, and Kyouya-san would never allow himself to be recruited. The real problem is if Sawada is going to get himself shot or not."

Kyouko gasps. "That's _worse_! I have to get over there! Kusakabe-senpai, please!"

"I don't have transportation—"

" _I_ do. Just make sure they know Hibari-senpai will have an _entourage_." Kyouko snaps her phone shut with an air of finality and looks up at Takeshi, who fades back into reality. "I don't have transportation, I need your help."

Takeshi types a response with his phone.

 _What do you need?_

"You're scary and tall and have a big sword."

Takeshi nods. This is true.

"The Kouyou family consider us part of their group because we know about Flames, and we're not supposed to, and I guess anyone who knows about it in Namimori is just their business now. So!" Kyouko places her hands on her hips. "We're going to make Hibari-senpai and Tsuna _their_ business."

Takeshi gives her a vague look.

She holds up a finger. "One, Yuna-san said it's fine if Gokudera-kun is following _Nana_ _'s kid_. That means mama-san is important to them. If Nana's son escaped the country, they'd be upset. That means someone would fetch him regardless." She holds up a second. "Two, they said my powers are unusual. I doubt anyone has anything as convenient as a psychic. It's likely they'll agree I'm the best person to get them to come peacefully, when they have no idea who Hibari-senpai or Tsuna are as people." A third. "Three, Yuna's supposed to make us all Akiyama-kai, but she's holding off to see what happens. We might be able to use this disruption to keep them away from all of us, because organized crime is bad."

The vague look remains.

"Okay, first off, we have to make an impression. We have to think like yakuza. With yakuza aggression!" She pauses. "No violence, though."

Takeshi nods. He can do aggressive. He's been reliably informed the whole murderous intent thing was pretty spooky.

"Takeshi-kun you tried to _kill_ someone?"

Takeshi's mind goes carefully blank.

She narrows her eyes at him, but unwilling to trust Gokudera to be reliable in literally any respect after he lost Tsuna and left Takeshi with a perverted hitman doctor, decides to drop it. "Okay, so you be scary with a sword, and I'll do the talking!"

He nods, resolute.

Takeshi kicks the door down.

Kyouko surreptitiously checks for damages, and deciding it isn't _too_ bad, decides to put her game face on instead of apologizing. "Change of plans, Kouyou-san."

Yuna thinks this is the best possible result of letting her go out to make that call, which isn't terribly encouraging.

"What the _fuck_?" Gokudera shouts, leaping to his feet.

Kyouko nods her head forward. Takeshi wields his big scary sword, unsheathing it with an odd flick, and he holds it at Yuna's neck.

Now Ben thinks this is funny too.

"What's the occasion?" The woman asks, eyeing the gleaming blue metal greedily.

"Tsuna's in Italy," Kyouko announces grimly.

The mood of the room drops like a stone.

"How did _that_ happen?" Yuna asks.

"I don't know, but he's with Hibari-senpai, and I'd like you to think of _what might happen_ if Hibari-senpai was left alone with a bunch of criminals who are all big and strong. At a _ball._ For the _mafia._ "

Yuna pales. Gokudera and Ben are from Italy, Haru is from another school, and Oogawa not only goes to another school, but is a hikikomori, so they don't really react much. Hana would probably start screaming around this point.

"You're going to give us a private plane to Italy. Me, Takeshi-kun, Gokudera-kun…" Well, those are the immediate choices. Hana might want to come? "…And anyone else."

"Oh nooo…" Yuna holds a hand gently to her mouth. "Oh nooooo not again."

"Does Tsuna regularly leave the country?" Kyouko asks hesitantly, unable to glean anything from the rush of thoughts.

"No, but there was the one time with the barge— I should…probably just ask Naoki. It wouldn't be the first time."

He's willing to go above and beyond when someone hurts any of his 'family', Tsuna included.

Kyouko's brow pinches. _"Who hurt Tsuna?"_

Yuna's mental blockades slam shut, even as Takeshi tilts his sword to raise her chin.

Kyouko holds her fingers gently to her mouth. "Could it be that he's running away from…?"

Yuna laughs. "Oh no, he's _super_ dead. No matter how angry it makes you, Naoki was a hundred times more pissed, guaranteed."

" _Fucking try me,"_ Gokudera snarls. To Oogawa, "get out of here, hang out with gun kid and your little therapy pet. This isn't your problem."

"I'm going to go my house and die," Oogawa says with unyielding determination, because he's been repeating his desire to do so in his head for the past five minutes. Kyouko had sort of tuned it out at this point.

Haru squeaks as she flees.

"I was going to tell Miki about Mists," Yuna frowns.

Takeshi smiles faintly and tilts the blade so it bites into her neck.

"…But it can wait, I see."

Gokudera takes the reprieve to glare at Kyouko. "How'd you know he left?"

"Psychic powers. He must have taken off last night, I can't read him now."

" _Implying you could read him before_?"

"I always could. It's a bit unusual, I suppose, knowing that it has to do with magic. I've always been linked with Onii-san, and Tsuna just…sucks up attention, I suppose?"

"That's a _really_ weird way of putting it," Yuna remarks.

"It's how it feels. My attention just pulls towards him naturally."

"That's not right, he's not a _Sky_ ," Yuna muses quietly.

"She hasn't explained Skies to us yet," Gokudera adds, then doubles down. "How the fuck are we going to find him in _Italy_?"

"Psychic powers and the reasonable belief he'll be at the ball…?"

Gokudera fixes his jaw.

Then he pats Takeshi on the back. "Alright, good enough for me. Either she complies or heads roll."

"Calm down, fucking hell, I'm not going to tell my family Nana's kid got stabbed and _ran off to Europe to join the mafia_. Let me just call Naoki."

Kyouko thinks that may be overstating things a bit — the one who's likely going to get involved in the mafia is Hibari, not Tsuna, and it's less 'joining' and more 'starting life-threatening fights with'. "…Takeshi-kun. Back."

Takeshi relents and somehow manages to sheath his uselessly massive sword fluidly.

"One of us will have to go, though," Yuna adds weakly.

"Not a problem!" Kyouko says sunnily.

The real problem will probably be to figure out how to convince Hana and Ryouhei to let her go.

* * *

Kyouya wakes sluggishly, feeling that unusual freshness that he's slowly getting used to. He wonders how much effort he would need to exert to get Tsunayoshi to simply live in his house. The mother would have to come, right?

The dog stirs as he slides off the bed. He wipes the drowsiness from his eyes and gestures it to follow. Speaking of Tsunayoshi, he seems to have vanished. The secretary has a complicated relationship with doing as he's told, but since Kyouya hadn't ordered him to do anything since they arrived, he fails to care.

He observes their room. It's still dark out, so he hadn't been napping long. Tsunayoshi's bag lies underneath their discarded coats. Kyouya pulls his own back on, and admires the quality of the leather. It's to his liking.

His eyes catch the undone corner of the bag, and the white pages peeking out.

If he remembers correctly, Tsunayoshi had said he could learn more about Flames using the files he had.

He opens the bag entirely, and pulls out the page he had seen. It's mostly in Italian, with scribbled translations in Korean with small footnotes.

 _Fourth sample failed synchronization. Descended three layers before rebound. No damages. Proposing increase in Blue keys._

The rest of the page is similarly impossible to comprehend.

He hauls the bag over his shoulder and leaves the room. He'd like a chair for this.


	5. Those Who Observe

**Warnings:** Gore?, blood, mention of traumatic bonding

* * *

 **Chapter Five: Those Who Observe**

* * *

Reborn escorts Gi U to the airport. It's a bit of a challenge, as they both look like small unattended children, and whenever Reborn touches Gi U's skin Reborn's pacifier lights up like a beacon and Gi U destabilizes violently. Reborn isn't sure how one installs an entire human being into the Earth's Aura, but apparently they went and did it anyway, and Gi U is very vocally unhappy about it.

"So you'll make a few stops—"

"I know."

"—But you want to be getting off in France."

"I know."

"You have an address?"

"I have one!" Gi U squirms a few seats away from Reborn. "Stop bothering me!"

"This is the first time since we've met you've come to me with an address in mind."

"That's because I was running away. Leave me alone."

Reborn isn't too familiar with the Bambino Beelzebub; the child had failed in his attempt to rob the Ninth when he had begun attacking Mafia families, and the Vongola leader had been able to appeal to his better nature by showing him Reborn's pacifier. Gi U has never seen a member of the Arcobaleno before, and they agreed that they'd help him do his job, so he was perfectly willing to play along. He doesn't seem to be a fan of Reborn himself, though.

Reborn has no idea what Gi U is up to now that Zeni — the man who was asking him to become a thief to begin with — is dead. Gi U had only appeared in the Underworld while he was working with Zeni, so it's a bit of a surprise that the Bambino Beelzebub would have any motivations beyond that. Not that Gi U is willing to share; his mood sours every time anyone tries to bring it up. From what Reborn can glean, Zeni isn't the first time he's had a sponsor, but that's the upper limit to his information.

"Are you coming back?"

"I don't wanna go back to the study, so okay." Gi U sinks in his seat. "I'll have to get into places now because I waited so long, so I'll come ask."

"Any hints on what you need to look for?"

Gi U pauses, and pulls his necklace out of his shirt to show Reborn. "The people who make these. And then I need to find the rest of them."

Finally. It's about time he explained. "Seven in total, I assume. Your tablet is a Cloud Wick."

"I don't know. I'm only meant to find five of them."

"What does it do?"

"Dunno. But it glows when I touch your baby sucker. So what does your baby sucker do?"

They stare at each other.

Then they look away and go back to their own business.

Gi U is obviously some kind of Flame experiment, but getting information on _that_ is even harder than find out who his sponsors are. The only reoccurring thread in how he talks about his past is his intent to find out his origins. They already knew the tablet was linked to his experimentation, but the fact the project had successfully developed six subjects is new. They hadn't been sure.

Reborn rolls around why they wouldn't have a tablet necklace that needs finding. It could mean anything; that they've already found one, that they've permanently lost one, that the Sky is too dangerous for a physically unstable creature like Gi U, that a Sky was never created to begin with due to how differently it works, or even that the tablets are only functional with a host, just like the pacifiers, and the Sky has…

Well, there's no use wondering about it. Gi U will probably let something slip when he gets back. He's not too bright.

Gi U's plane comes in. Gi U doesn't have any luggage beyond a small backpack he keeps in his lap, and he only has that because Federico insisted. The boy hates Federico's fussing, but seems incapable of refusing free things.

"Have a nice flight," Reborn says.

"I hate planes," Gi U retorts, and with that, he runs off.

Cute kid.

He calls Yamamoto Tsuyoshi next. He doesn't like Yamamoto Tsuyoshi very much, and he has the impression the feeling is extremely mutual, but he's the world's strongest hitman, so Tsuyoshi will listen to him anyway.

"…Hello?"

"I've been reliably informed your son almost died?"

Tsuyoshi is silent for a moment, and then says "why do you have this number?"

"Must have been terribly distressing. Your son almost being dead, I mean."

"Why do I have the feeling _you_ were involved?"

"Not a clue, because I was in Tokyo on business at the time. Very interested in the circumstances of his almost-death, though. How is he?"

"Mute. Are you trying to find out where those bullets came from?"

"Obviously," Reborn lies.

"Well, I have nothing for you. He shows up mute wielding a big sword and his friends are being vague on it. If you want details, ask your mafia friends."

"So he…" Reborn pauses in the middle of flipping through a magazine. "… _Wielding a big sword_."

"Yeah."

"Hm." Reborn makes a habit of never audibly halting his speech or using filler sounds, and being turned into an infant has done miracles to his skill in holding his tongue, but as a result, Tsuyoshi is treated to dead silence that must have lasted far too long as Reborn thinks of how to approach this information. "…Is he home?"

"No."

"Well when he is, tell him if anyone finds out where he got that sword, he will die. It's been nice." Reborn hangs up.

Hm.

Hmmmmmm.

* * *

Kunihiro adjusts his grip on Mukuro's slumped form hanging off his back, and gives Mukuro's mindslave a doubtful look. Mukuro's mindslave does not acknowledge him.

They're standing in front of a high school.

"How old are they?" Kunihiro asks, quirking his head. "Those two little hoodlums, I mean."

"Old enough."

"Like, thirteen? Thirteen, right?"

"Old enough."

"Thirteen-year-olds are old enough for high school around these parts?"

"Mukuro-sama is old enough for high school. The rest simply follow."

The bell rings. A teenager jumps out the window. Delightful!

The window-jumper is a wild-looking blond with a gnarled scar over his face that looks like it just barely avoided biting into the bridge of his nose, though it skinned quite a bit off his cheekbones. His hair is choked with bobby pins, and he doesn't look happy.

"What are you doing with Mukuro-sama!"

"We're best friends, right Mindslave?" Kunihiro says cheerfully. Then, "He was using an alias while he was out, are you really sure you should be shouting his name?"

The kid goes gray and slaps a hand over his mouth.

"Also, if I'm remembering right, and I know I am because these are memories I got from him, _that_ one," he nods towards Mindslave with his head, "Is your Mukuro-sama fallboy. You're really bad at this."

"We haven't been active since escaping. We had no plans for being discovered," Mindslave says flatly.

"No, no, don't defend him, because you just said he attends this high school, so he has an alias here too. This is on him."

"What's wrong with him?" Blondie says from behind his hand. He's got a mean glare.

"He's never met anyone who can deflect brainwashing before, it gave him really bad whiplash. What's your name?"

Kunihiro flinches as his blood melts away a rain of poison needles peppered along his side. Ouch?

"Name yourself first," says the newcomer. Yoyo-wielding, gloomy, has a barcode tattoo on his cheek, a beanie, and glasses. Kunihiro recognizes him as the second of the lackeys, which just leaves the criminals they collected when they busted out of prison.

"Yamazaki Kunihiro. I'm here to help, I promise. I mean, you'll be doing most of the helping. I doubt he'd let me give him a bath. He'll need it, by the way, he'll definitely be comatose for another day or two. You can do it too, right Mindslave?"

"I am ever Mukuro-sama's servant."

"Yeah, fine. Would love it if he could teach my family how to do that, it is _neat_. Guiding Eyes don't control like that. So he can drive you _and_ just let you wander around being unconditionally loyal to him?"

Mindslave gives him a blank look.

"I think he likes you," Kunihiro adds as an afterthought. "I mean, he likes the boys, and his baggage about you is _real_ ugly, but liking is somewhere in there. Would love to learn more, but I don't want him to, you know, die. Vegetate. Look at him, he's been like this since we hit soil."

He's getting the impression all three are glaring. He hopes he doesn't have to kill any of them; he wanted the whole package.

"I got food if you're hungry," Kunihiro adds.

" _We_ _'ll_ feed him," Blondie snaps. "We're not giving _you_ an inch until Mukuro-sama wakes up or tells us anything."

"Neat. Here you go." Kunihiro nudges Mukuro's sleeping form onto Mindslave, who takes him in a princess carry.

The boys relax, and the blond folds his arms. "What are your intentions for Mukuro-sama?"

"Hm! I made him quit his job in exchange for information on gaining more power, but he doesn't like me very much. Or at all, in fact! He had me take care of him here because he wanted to check up on you. That fine?"

"I don't think we should trust you," Blondie snaps. "Mukuro-sama has his way of communicating with us. He would have told us about you."

"Well you should, because I will kill all of you if you don't, so, I mean, it's lose/lose win/win over here!" Kunihiro outstretches his arms cheerfully.

They all tense up again. Wow, this is really, really hard! But he can't go back home without some sort of apology gift. Maybe put Mukuro in cuffs and haul ass? Even then, he can—

" _ **He needs me to go home,"**_ says Kunihiro's mouth, without Kunihiro's input. Kunihiro wrinkles his nose and tries to bite his tongue, but the words spurt out anyway. His right eye stings a little. _ **"I can't use my powers properly. He's telling the truth, but don't trust him."**_

"That was _really_ unpleasant," Kunihiro coughs. "Ugh, I hope he didn't give himself knockback."

"Why'd he talk through _just_ you?" Blondie growls.

Kunihiro raises his eyebrows and wipes the tear of pain from his eye. "Uh, neither of us are really good at whatever he tried on me, and he's a bit scrambled. We did a bit of brainshare. Did you know what being repeatedly killed and revived by the Estreneo felt like, because boy, _I do now_."

It's enough for them to lower their hackles, but it also made them really, really upset. Kunihiro scratches the back of his head. He doesn't have the time to sweet-talk right now, and he sort of gets the impression Mukuro is hungry. How long is it going to take to get them to get a move on?

"Are any of you hungry?" He asks.

A redheaded girl Kunihiro doesn't recognize at all — and the second foreigner of the group — jumps over the wall around the school and places her hands on her hips. Must be one of the prison escapees. A small, very fat bird lands on her school bag. " _I_ sure am."

"Great! Can we go? I don't feel comfortable being in public outside of Namimori. Real big anxiety of mine." Kunihiro shifts from foot to foot, glancing intermittently at the school. It's lunch break, if he remembers the time correctly, but no one's leaving…

Oh no, there's one. White-blond. Holding a bear. Circling around the school.

The boys stare after the figure until he enters the building, then look back to Kunihiro. The barcode boy speaks for the first time.

"Fine. Hurry."

* * *

Lambo spies through the grimy glass of the cargo hold door. All he can see is stairs leading straight up. The ships are unloaded through that scrolling door over on the other side of the ship, but it's, well, _closed_ , so Lambo was hopeful. He doesn't have a lot of experience with boats, or smuggling children onto boats. The old man banned it, on account of all of his attacks involving raw lightning in some way. This probably isn't going to end _super_ well, but he trusts himself to not kill any children, so whatever. It's fine. They're moving. They probably won't even be discovered until they get there. It's cool.

"What do we do?" Mattia whispers.

"Uhhhh, we wait!" Lambo whirls around and presses his back against the door. "We wait and beat people up until we get onto the island, and then, I'm technically the eldest, so I'm the Bovino Boss now. So I will be getting you into that theme park. Easy peasy!"

"You're technically the youngest, though," one points out.

Lambo scowls. "Listen, kid, I don't claim mastery of time streams, but generally the older ones get to lead because they've been sucking air long enough to know what's what, not on the exact technicalities of a dimension's timestream. _I_ _'m the eldest_."

"Some of us are fifteen too, though. How are you sure you're the eldest?" Another asks.

" _Math?_ Even if I wasn't, how many of you have actual real-world experience with anything outside of the Bovino family? Have any of you left your houses besides to travel? Hm? Any hands?"

There are no hands.

"Yeah. _Thought so_. Lambo Bovino: Boss of the Bovino, and that is _final_. —Who the hell is that?"

Among the children scattered around the crates and undefined objects covered in tarps stands a gangly Asian girl, who levels him with a contrary look. Lambo would think she's an Average, but they're rare enough he would have definitely recognized her.

He scans the crowd long and hard, and finds more than a few unfamiliar faces. He counts them under his breath, and gets a lot more than forty-one children. Slowly, he folds his arms and cocks his head. "So, uh, raise your hand if you're not a Bovino?"

No one raises their hands.

"Okay. Lot a liars in this illegally smuggled mafia family! So, how it works is, in order to join a family, you ask the boss. Which is me. And if you did not ask the boss, who is me, just to remind you, you aren't part of the family."

"Mafia famiglia let in people who aren't their family members," Mattia suggests.

"Yeah, but I mean, _they have to ask first_? How long has this been going on? There are— I think there's over sixty? That has to be more than ten people, which is _quite a lot._ "

"Yeah, I guess. Okay, hey everybody! Raise your hands if you wanna join the Bovino family!" Mattia calls.

Sixteen children of varying ages raise their hands.

"Oh my god," Lambo whispers running his hands down his face.

"Okay, now you tell them they're in the Bovino now."

Lambo opens his mouth, closes it, remembers they're stowing away on a ship in the middle of the pacific ocean, and throws his hands up. "Well, _I guess?_ "

Everyone applauds. This is awful. Lambo feels bad for the Bovino Mature class, even though they directly caused this stupid behaviour to begin with.

Whatever. Fine. Fine! He only kidnapped all his siblings on a whim anyway? It doesn't matter if he kidnaps a bunch of homeless kids. Sure. Why not. No change in plans. He's got the Bovino's battery, he's on a ship headed to Mafia Land, he's got his family, he's the boss. He's _in control._

The yellow pacifier tied around his wrist lights up so brightly Lambo's eyes water.

"Oh, oohhh, oh wow," Lambo hisses, shielding his face. "Okay, didn't realize this thing still does that! Maybe a problem?"

"What's that?" Paulo asks loudly.

"Well, this is, erm, well it's called a _rainbow pacifier_ , and…" There's loud footfall above them. "I think this is going to end in either all of us dying or us taking over the ship, so pull your pants up and hide for a second, okay?"

With a bit of quiet shrieking and worrying, they all duck behind the containers. Lambo pulls out the small cube dangling from a chain on his shorts and quickly stuffs the green ring hanging from his neck into the slot. A massive bow with the twisting shape of a gazelle's horns explodes from inside, dwarfing him in height. He tags both ends with his ring and pulls back a string of pure Lightning Flames, which expands into an arrow made of the same.

"What's that?" Paulo asks loudly.

"It's _technology of the future_ , do not raise your voice in life and death situations _please_ ," Lambo stresses. He backs away from the door and waits. It's not a real bow, so he doesn't have to worry about tensile strength, only focus.

Silence. Footsteps, almost aimless. Lambo holds his breath.

"So what happened to your horns—"

Lambo whips his head around. "I _lost them_ , alri—"

The cargo hold door rolls upward to open ocean faster than Lambo thinks is strictly necessary.

"Well, that explains which one it is," he says faintly.

And then the massive purple arms of an octopus shoot forward, aiming straight for him.

Lambo uses the bow as a vaulting pole to jump over the strike, and then as a balancer to make sure when he lands, it's on the tentacle. The limb bucks under his feet, but when it pulls up, it gives him the power of gravity; he slides along its length and takes the thicker base at a run, pulling another arrow. The closer he gets, the more brilliant the shine and colour of his pacifier, and he can see an answering violet under the surface of the water.

"IT'S AN OCTOPUS!" A child screams.

"DEALING WITH IT," Lambo yells back.

The limb sweeps to the side before he can reach the end, so he grabs onto a container to stop himself from falling and flips onto it. He continues his route closer towards the water, arrow still drawn, and takes a running leap at the blind attack it tries next, using it to extend his jump. It gives under his weight, but it's too goddamn huge to keep him from skipping into the air, right over top of the churning surface of the water. The boat is moving and Lambo can't swim, so this is a bit of a one-shot case, here.

He lets the arrow fly.

The octopus explodes upwards from the water with a shriek, and Lambo grabs onto the closest tentacle on the way down before the monster and the boat it's clinging to can leave him behind. It whips him around in a disorientating circle, but he manages to let go and get slammed right into the hold again, hard enough that he temporarily loses all bodily functions. Technically a success, which the old man would call 'a whole success, would you prefer death?'

Now that he's attacked, the octopus and its rider are fully visible. Atop the massive, bulbous head stands a leather-clad toddler, face hidden by a helmet, wearing a purple pacifier shining brightly even in the mid-afternoon sun.

There's a very weighted silence as the Arcobaleno takes stock of how tall Lambo is, and what colour the pacifier dangling from his wrist is.

" _Where did you get that."_ It's a question with too much heat to be stated like one.

And the answer to it hits Lambo like…like it's so _hard_ , so impossible to conceive of that it feels like a physical pain, like he couldn't possibly begin to explain not only where he got it, but what it felt like in that moment to have it pressed into his palm. Simply implying it feels like stabbing himself in the gut.

Instead of sad, though, he gets cold, and angry, and probably a little stupid. "Have you ever tried to take one of those things off? Where the fuck do you _think_ I got it?"

"He said a swear," a child whispers.

The Cloud Arcobaleno, Skull, did apparently not account for sixty-something small children huddled in his cargo hold. He looks to their peeking faces, then to Lambo, and then with a terrible cry, directs the octopus into another attack.

It's fast and unpredictable and Lambo wasn't expecting to be _hooked out of the hold_ , so he's helpless as he's tossed airborne and thrown bodily onto the deck of the Carcassa family's ship. He raises his bow, and winces as the sound of several guns being readied echoes in a ring around him. Slowly, he returns the bow back to his ring box and puts his hands in the air, still kneeling.

Skull rises to meet him. Lambo glares at his tiny feet. He should have checked _why_ the ship was headed straight for Mafia Land. He shouldn't have picked the first one he saw. He knew he wasn't cut out for this. He knew he couldn't do it without the old man.

Skull stops just in front of him, breathing heavily. "Why," he says, obviously tearing up, "do you have that?"

Lambo _can_ _'t imagine putting that into words_ , and tears sting his eyes as he struggles to communicate _something_ about it. He's already destroyed the Bovino and took their power source; he could describe _everything_ about his circumstances, and all anyone could do is feel sort of bad for him. But even that small admission feels lodged in his throat, as if saying it would somehow downplay the destructive force of simply _having that memory inside him._

"Get out of our hold," Skull says, choked with his own tears, "you're going to help the Carcassa take over the Mafia Land island! FOR REBORN!"

And then, with dawning horror, Lambo realizes what he had just implied by visibly grieving, remembers Reborn is very, very much alive around these parts, and understands with terrible clarity that he's heading straight for an island full of extremely powerful people who might not take well to the implication that that he isn't.

Ohh.

Ohhh, he's in trouble.

* * *

Kyouya has a bit of a trouble finding a kitchen, and he's irritated to find that the baby's 'no talking to underlings' rule seems to be a mutual discussion, because there's no one willing to guide him, and no one willing to prepare him tea. No matter; he's perfectly capable of caring for himself.

In the calm of Tsunayoshi's afterglow, he _still_ feels the urge to bite something, though not enough to resort to gnawing on his own wrists. There's a lot of refrigerator space to pick through, and he settles on stealing someone's drumsticks and digging his teeth into the bone. It doesn't pair well with the tea, but it soothes his mood all the same.

He settles with the papers, and begins to read from the start.

 _Green Door Project._

A Flame experiment meant to affect some sort of illness, from the beginning notes, meant to fill some sort of debt in ability. Kyouya assumes this is referring to Tsunayoshi's absurd condition, if Tsunayoshi is so interested in it. This first experiment was eventually canceled, and then the rest of the documents is a garbled collection of experiments done using the original research.

He doesn't quite understand what's happening until he figures what exactly they were experimenting on.

He takes a long sip while staring at an emancipated child, and idly clenches the chicken bone between his teeth as he works through what he thinks the documents are about.

The Green Door Project is…a series of experiments where researchers attempt to manipulate the Aura — the power Kyouya used, the Flames that have Haloed him since birth — that naturally occurs in the world. Romolo Zeni had been interested in Kyouya's Halo, and it seems youths with that characteristic are in extremely high demand. Unsurprising.

Strangely, despite the origins of the research, none of it seems to reference the original disorder. All of it is just using children as if they were the Flame-channeling devices. It's extremely straightforward, and Kyouya has no idea what Tsunayoshi would get out of it.

The bone splinters between his teeth as he tries to reason through it. Tsunayoshi had explicitly stated, more than once, in fact, that his ability is caused by a seal. Tsunayoshi must be a Haloed child as well, which makes him twice as useful to Kyouya, but maximizing his usefulness with this information can't be _Tsunayoshi_ _'s_ objective, because Tsunayoshi is stupid enough to think that being dominated would make him weaker, make him—

The bone cleaves in two.

 _You can_ _'t be…you're not allowed tttto…uh…to be, violated, n' end up like me._

He carefully removes the bone from his mouth.

 _Everything about me_ _'s so broke. I'm really…Dame. You know. But it feels like something secret broke, and I dunno how much of that is why everything else isn't…isn't working any._

He places it on the table.

Why would Tsunayoshi fixate on comparing himself to _Kyouya_ when wallowing in self-pity?

His eyes lock onto the page, and he considers it again, this time with a theory.

Sawada Tsunayoshi most definitely had a Halo of Flames that called on him in his early childhood, that called on him like they called on Kyouya, a Halo that made him _valuable_ , a Halo that made him _like Kyouya_ , that made him _the perfect sample to be used in these tests._ Sawada Tsunayoshi has a fascination with his own _utility_ , being infuriatingly oblivious to even the basic tenants of obedience but strangely partial to being thought of as a tool in a way Kyouya usually has to drill into people. He had to drill it into _Tetsuya_. Rather than Tsunayoshi believing has a skill he thinks Kyouya deserves to have, which is provably wrong, it would make more sense if it was a way of thinking drilled into him like Father's lessons, as natural as breathing. And he _wanted these documents._

He doesn't get it the first time, but he hooks odd facts over and over, discarding any details that he feels aren't absolute enough, until he's left with a truth that he feels is _right_ , but not very detailed.

Sawada Tsunayoshi is a Green Door Project sample, processed between five to seven years ago.

Kyouya leans back with a smile. Well, that'll make him much easier to deal with. Kyouya will just kill everyone associated with this project, and Tsunayoshi should smarten up right away. Even if it doesn't affect his obedience, he should stop crying so much, which would still be an improvement. He decides this would also constitute as repaying a life debt.

"I hope you didn't take those from somewhere."

The blonde woman from the office is in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee. She's heavily injured, at least as much as Kyouya is, but with enough bandages that he can't glean anything about how the current leader of the Varia fights.

"My secretary's bag. They were collected in Miyazawa."

"Well, alright then." She approaches and skims over them. "Found a Green Door branch?"

"These files cover at least eleven experiments from England, Italy, France, and Russia," says Kyouya. "They're common to you?"

"Mm, yeah, Green Door tends to find anyone using the original research and absorb them, so there's always a new one. I mean, they did, before…" She picks up the photograph and pours over it before placing it down on the table. "Well, have you heard of the Vindice?"

 _No._

"Yes."

"You'll likely be dealing with them more once you inherit your territories, but what they did here was…" She picks out more photographs, and pairs them with the most extensive test sequence Kyouya's seen in the collection. "They show up, arrest people, and charge them, with as little destruction as possible. But with this, by all accounts, they just appeared and razed the place. Wiped it off the map and killed every single person involved. Finding any research more recent than five years ago is impossible. There just _isn_ _'t a Green Door Project anymore._ They didn't even bother collecting the samples, just wanted the research gone. You should be vigilant in keeping anyone who might be associated with them out of your area, they could wipe out valuable information you need."

"There was an original research subject." Kyouya points at the first few pages. "What was it."

"Oh, that was…" She thinks for a moment, then nods slowly. "When your body naturally processes Aura, without any…any activation, or conduits, anything like that, it's called a Halo. The original research was about how to cure a Flame deficit using them. Nothing that hasn't been researched before, just unusually intensive."

"Is it related to Sawada Tsunayoshi's condition?"

The woman goes still.

"With…who's condition…?"

"Sawada Tsunayoshi." He realizes that Tsunayoshi must be some sort of influencer here, and that is the reason he's continued his abhorrent dependence on makeup. "…He is a Namimori Middle School student."

She nods slowly, then faster, then relaxes somewhat. "Yeah…yeah, no, not Tsunayoshi. Not…not Hachiko, either, definitely not. It was just…problems processing Aura. Can't create Flames. That sort of thing."

Kyouya looks down at the documents. What would Tsunayoshi's problem be, then? "I understand."

The woman steps back. "…It's…nice talking to you. Good luck with your Authority."

"You've been useful." He waves her away. She sets her coffee on the counter and leaves at a brisk pace.

Kyouya clenches his fist, his teeth grinding slowly with pent-up frustration.

If they're already dead, he can't kill them to make Tsunayoshi less annoying. He's back to square one.

* * *

"This is a lot of frills to be dealing with at once," Tsuna remarks.

"It's lolita fashion, darling, I thought it might pair nicely with Mammon's whole business."

The clothes he ended up in are made of soft black velvet, with bright lilac piping and a ribbon. Most of the frills are localized in the capelet, though there's some stitched into the pockets of the pants, which have leather suspenders. He plucks them as Lussuria's tailor painstakingly stitched the Varia emblem into the capelet.

"Is the logo necessary? I'm not technically part of your group, am I?"

"Well, no, hun, but if we get Xanxus back, you're going to have to stick by his side, and that's going to have to be in public sometimes, so it'd be a hell of a lot less suspicious if you're just a subordinate," Lussuria explains. "You're here to de-escelate, and it's an even split between you being able to safely break him out of his prison and you being able to keep him…well, how do I put it…not calm. Safe?"

Tsuna's eyes shift back and forth. "…He's…is he like Hibari-san? Does he get all wound up because of his Flames?"

"Exactly! Sweetie, you're just the smartest little thing." Lussuria adjusts the clothes a bit. "Oh, they're just going to love you come breakfast time."

"Thank you. When's that ball?"

"Four days, so if we get Xanxus back in time and stick you next to him, you'll have to come."

"I don't know Italian." He pauses. "Convincingly."

"Nobody's perfect, darling, just look assertive and I'm sure no one will bother you about it."

"What about Hibari-san?"

"He doesn't have to wear the uniform, sweetie, he's a Bird Progeny. They'll be grateful he graced them with his presence, obviously."

Tsuna steps back as Lussuria shoos away the tailor, mulling that over. He thinks he's actually heard that brought up a few times, though never in Namimori. Rather than Hibari and Misosazai…is it Skylark and Wren? Are those _titles_?

"U-Uhm…" Tsuna hops to chase Lussuria out of the closet, and tries to keep a distance as he circles out of Lussuria's path to close it. "What _is_ the Bird Progeny?"

"They own things," Lussuria says with a vague gesture. "A bird gathers power, has a kid, and passes on the legacy. They're so old and so uninvolved that no one knows how powerful they are. I'm guessing if you've got the heir, you lived in one of their territories."

"Oh, uh, wow. I thought he was just rich, or something."

"No one knows if they have any money either. But since he's notable, we can just cart him around without anyone asking questions, which is lucky for _you_."

"I don't feel lucky. I feel attacked."

"That too!" Lussuria cheerfully carts him out of his bedroom and slams the door shut.

He actually gets a tour, this time; residentials (though Tsuna still doesn't know which one is his), bathrooms, kitchen, a few more obscure attractions like an entire floor dedicated to training rooms 'where it'd be save to knock over a wall or two' and a hurried show of the roof, which has some sort of bizarre electrical apparatus that Lussuria says belongs to another head assassin of the Varia.

"Thank you for showing me around," Tsuna says politely.

"Killing time is fun with friends!"

"We're not friends," he notes blandly, but continues to follow anyway.

Lussuria brings him down, and at first Tsuna thinks he's returning him to his gym, but then they go down another level to the cold cement of the basement level with only one door. Tsuna pauses.

"What's…?"

"Oh, I'm just showing you around. Just showing you places. Just showing you all the places in the mansion, you know? And I can't show you Mammon's, _obviously_ , and the other two aren't even _home_ , so really I think it's only natural that to be friendly, I make sure you see everything. All of it! Riiiight?"

Tsuna scowls. "No. I want to go back to my room."

Lussuria's false cheer falls away. "Okay, sweetheart, listen close? I'm about to get in some real big trouble with Squalo by starting this early, but as the head tactician, I think I have the authority to say it is _not a very good idea_ to tell a powerful mafia boss that we have you just lying around here, even if, yes, it would be very satisfying to see the look on his face when he sees you breaking Xanxus' prison. Which I'm sure you can do. You can do it, right?"

Tsuna takes a step back. "Do _what_?"

Lussuria pauses, as if checking for prying ears, and then turns to unlock the door.

The room beyond is lit by a pale glow, but the door opens to a simple cement wall. Lussuria enters, and Tsuna, with his heart in his throat, follows.

It is a featureless room filled with nothing but a single, massive, towering piece of ice. It seems to almost pulsate, as if it were breathing. He circles it in fascination, forgetting his trepidation. Most of the faces are milky and impossible to see through, but through orange-glazed panels he can see a dark shape inside. Through one of them, he finally sees a face; severe-looking, dark-haired, and human.

"That's a _person_ ," Tsuna says with horror.

"That's Xanxus." Lussuria gives the ice a good hearty slap. "This is a Flame ability."

" _Ice_ is a Flame ability?"

"Hmm…Sort of. It's like…" Lussuria leans against the structure like it's nothing more than a pillar. "I don't know what you're doing to make those spooky Flames of yours, but with this, it was a push-pull sort of feeling. It pushed away aaaaall of the world's energies, and then filled it with _itself_. And, hm, turned solid, I supposed. Give it a feel."

Tsuna does. It's warm to the touch. "Oh, this is— it's like crystal."

"It is, but it behaves like ice. Crazy stuff, Flames. Barely anyone knows that Aura has a next level, so there's not exactly a surplus of people who know how it works. Can other Sky users do this? Who knows! We're all playing by ear. Anyway, I need you to get him out of there."

"Before…Uh…the person with the ability comes, to see that someone can undo his power?"

"Exactly!"

"You're trying to hide me." Tsuna runs his hands over the face that shows the profile of the person inside. Xanxus looks younger than he expected. Definitely way older than him, but only a teenager. "What did you do?"

"Tried to kill the boss of the Vongola, nothing too violent. I mean, we had detained the _hell_ out of a lot of people, and maybe they succumbed to their wounds, maybe they didn't! I'm sure it's not a big deal."

"Does he also want to kill a ten-year-old?"

"Ten-year-old?" Lussuria taps his chin for a few moments, before his face clears. "Oh, Beelzebub. Xanxus is been in here for eight years, and Beelzebub has been a pest for only three. He wouldn't know him."

"Hm." Tsuna circles the ice a second time. "So I just…do what I do with Hibari-san."

"Preferably with much more intensity. Do the horn thing!"

Tsuna looks at him uncertainly, then places his palms gently against the surface of the Flame Ice. At first nothing happens, which he finds heartening, but then it flickers, like Mammon's pacifier did. The orange tint of the clear face dims under his palms, and he feels a lance of _freezing_ explode underneath his fingertips that makes him flinch away.

When he looks at his fingertips, he sees an orange glow sticking to his fingers before dimming entirely.

"Uh…looks like I can suck it up just fine," Tsuna says weakly.

"Quicklyyyy, honey," Lussuria says insistently, looking through the door intermittently.

Tsuna nods, slowly, then faster, then he squares his shoulders and plunges headfirst into

 _The texture of thin carpet underneath his hands, feels like relief, relief, relief, this is what he_ _'s meant to feel, he was hurt and he won't be anymore and that is something to be happy about, but what he really feels is a massive hole punched into his stomach, a sucking_

 _ **Emptiness.**_

Tsuna is plunged into blackness.

He doesn't understand it at first, but he hears Lussuria coughing, sees the glow above him, and realizes that it's oozing off him so thickly that it blocks his vision. It doesn't feel naturally. His brain can't comprehend that kind of black. Empty. Featureless. Empty. Empty. Empty.

He's not sure where he is the longer he goes; he feels like he's floating, and it's hard to tell if that's out of dizziness or because he _is_. He feels so numb, and he doesn't want to drop his hands, so he presses it in, and—

 _ **CR-CR-CRACK**_

Tsuna snaps back into lucidity, and the darkness vanishes as if it were never there. The ice in front of him has thinned enough that its almost reached the figure inside, but now there's huge cracks running through it, and it's reached the figure, and there's colour, dark, dark color oozing through it, and his stomach churns when he realizes that it's blood.

"Oh, _fuck_ , I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"Keep going, Hachiko-chan, we gotta treat him right away!"

Tsuna plunges again.

Empty.

Empty apartment.

He needs to fill it. It's so empty. _It_ _'s so empty._ He doesn't want to be alone anymore. It's too much.

" _Please,"_ Tsuna whines, "please don't make me do this anymore."

"Just touch his skin, that's all, just get in there!"

He's plunged into blackness again.

It's a featureless void. There is no one around. There is no one here for him. There is no one. Tsuna gasps, but there is no air to breathe. _There is nothing._ His head is light, his body is light, and he thinks he's still inside his Flames, still in the room with the ice, but it feels so isolated, so quiet, that it's somehow just as bad as being swallowed by emptiness. He can't hear Lussuria's voice or the sound of the ice and _he can_ _'t feel anything at all._

A ghost of Valentin's hand rubs on his back. _Easy. Don_ _'t push yourself._

Tsuna nods, slowly, and drowsiness seeps in. He is glad Valentin is here. He didn't go anywhere, did he? He's here. It's okay. Easy. He's here. He's not alone. A full, contentness inside him, the kind he can only feel in such isolated moments, feels so _warm_ —

Then his hand burns, and it's not Valentin rubbing his back. The hallucination does an unstable stutter into reasoning that this must be Hibari kicking him in the head again, and then he realizes someone is grabbing him by the hair, not hitting him, and his hand _burns so much_ _—_

"Ow ow ow OW FUCK OW!" Tsuna screams, slapping at the hand holding him in place. Something scorching hot splatters against his face, and he rubs it away, leaving a streak of blood against the heel of his palm. His hands are still radiating Ash, but he can see the room again, and an arm covered in hairline cracks is reaching towards him, holding by the hair. Holding him _up_ by the hair; Tsuna is dangling.

His eyes follow the arm to a loose sleeve, a jacket, a face. The man's dark features are glassy and slack, and his eyes stare unseeing into the middle distance. His entire body is covered in the same hairline fractures, racing under his clothes, bleeding everywhere, though there's a few lines of red welts like the ice had tugged at it but failed to break skin. He looks like he had a barrel full of razor blades poured over his head, and he's definitely not conscious.

"You did it!" Lussuria congratulates him.

"Uh," Tsuna's being held up too high to touch the floor, so he grabs the blood-slick arm and hoists himself up a little to ease the pain of being held up by his follicles. "He good?"

" _I_ don't know, but you're definitely my best friend now, sweetheart! I think he's out cold, try to, hm," Lussuria grabs Tsuna by the legs and tries to release Xanxus' fingers from Tsuna's hair. The wig has fallen to the ground, and the blood and hair gel mix weirdly. When Lussuria finally manages to get the half-dead figure to let go, Xanxus simply topples to the ground.

"That _hurt,_ " Tsuna whines, glancing at his palm. It's pale and the skin has turned translucent, with large circles of actual burns in it, deep enough that he can see muscle. It's a lot more gruesome than what Hibari did to him. When he twitches it, pain twinges up his arm.

"That's how Xanxus' Flames are, unfortunately."

"Gimme a—" Tsuna sucks in a breath heavy with tears, and gives it a tap. The whole hand sucks inwards, and then bounces back with a puff of Ash smoke. Strangely, it doesn't hurt.

He taps the other one, and drops to the floor with a yelp of pain.

"You were using only one hand," Lussuria ponders over him. "Is your ability to recover based on how much Sky Flames you have to work with?"

Tsuna just screams, as long as he can muster so Lussuria knows how pissed he is, laying on the floor next to the heavily bleeding figure of Xanxus.

Regret settles over him like a blanket.

 _He wants to go home._

 _He shouldn_ _'t have left everyone alone._

A bit of the icy cold leaves his body, enough that he feels like he can roll over and use every single cuss word he knows, clutching his throbbing hand.

* * *

 **AN:**

 _I forgot to introduce the space/time element to Flames back in the Recovery arc so it occurs to me that Apocalypse Lambo is not only hard to follow from a flow perspective but also reads like he comes from an entirely different fic. I_ _'m sure I'll fix it one of these days_

 _Reasoning out how Zero Point works vs how Anti-Trinisette works and the best I can assume is that Anti-Trinisette is No Flames and Zero Point is Only Sky, But Also I use Raw Flame Energy To Harden The Pure Sky Area I Just Made. That_ _'s logical right? Right._


	6. Those Who Grasp

**Warnings:** Flashback of gore, whump, child being brutalized in general, underage alcoholics run rampant

* * *

 **CHAPTER SIX: Those Who Grasp**

* * *

 _There's a hand around his throat, to strong to pry away. Tsuna dies staring into terrified eyes._

 _But he doesn't die. He doesn't die even though he feels his entire base crack, and his vision white out and his body broken off, and that frayed nothingness was crawling up his fractured spine._

 _And the man puts him down, and Tsuna's legs hold strong, and even though he can't feel his own body, he still sees his hand snake out, slam his palm against the pommel of the knife, and drive the blade across the man's throat. Tsuna collapses, then, but the man doesn't. The man gets on top of him, knife forgotten, one hand around his neck again, the other held to his slash wound. Something goes pop-pop-pop and Tsuna can feel his nerve endings, only for them to break away again along with the sound of his spine snapping a second time._

 _He realizes that he's going to die. Going to be broken and broken and broken and broken, snapped until there's nothing left of his body. Going to die. Going to be killed, going to be—_

 _Another pop-pop-pop, and he can feel his body again. He can feel the man's strength is flagging, but it's replaced with a dizziness and an ache around his throat. He kicks weakly and his foot nudges something._

 _He's not even wearing any shoes._

 _Tsuna's toes wrap around the object — the knife — and tosses it back up and it skids by his hand and Tsuna picks it up and stabs the man and squirms but he can't get away and a giant hand presses against the side of his head and slams his skull into the floor and—_

 _And he stabs a second time, because the blade is still there, and then it isn't. The blood had dribbled down to the hilt, the handle, and slicked Tsuna's hands. It slides right out of his palm._

 _The man dives backwards to catch it. Tsuna can finally raise his legs and kick him all the way back. He reaches over the man's body to grab the knife again, and the man digs a finger into his eye until all it can see is a raw starburst, and Tsuna is crying and wet and he has the knife, and he plunges it into the man's eye in return, and the man is still grabbing, but Tsuna is faster and he slams the knife in again, and there's still a hand at his hip, and he slams the knife in again, and he has the tempo now so he slams the knife in again, and again, he puts it in and takes it out and the man won't grab him, he puts it in and takes it out and the man won't grab him, he puts it in and takes it out and the man won't grab him, he puts it in and he_

Wakes up hyperventilating.

Tsuna is gripping his blankets with white knuckles, and his teeth buzz from oxygen deprivation. The panic attack passes after a dizzying dip in awareness, and he doesn't let himself think about anything until the shadow of paralyzing dread passes him. He swallows and forces himself to breathe slower. He's in a bed. His hands aren't wet. He has a— his brain stutters as it attempts to sort which order yesterday's events happened in. He— He has a Hibari?

The bed he's in does not make an appearance in his memories. He turns to look at the walls around him with damp eyes. This room is also absent from his recent memories. Tsuna does not like this.

God, he feels like shit. Like something died at the back of his throat.

He raises a hand to press against the lump next to him. It's a person. He likes waking up next to someone, but the fact this person does not factor into his memories is possibly the most concerning of all. It's firm and hard and bigger than him and coated in bandages that feel a bit crunchy.

A fully bandaged man with dark hair. Tsuna's eyes skate over his bedmate uncomprehendingly, still not piecing together the facts. He absently mops at his face and crawls up to get a good look.

It's…Xanxus, he thinks. The guy in the ice. He has severe eyebrows that make him look angry even when he's asleep, and he looks…yeah, pretty young? Not much older than Hibari. He looks like he should be in high school. It makes Tsuna feel a little unsettled, to be honest.

Tsuna snorts up some of his hot, acid-like Nose Ooze and pulls his blankets away. He's only wearing his new tailored silk boxers and the dress shirt, but Tsuna has taken off his jeans and called that 'pajamas' often enough to know why. If the teenager in bed with him is Xanxus, Lussuria must have tossed them in together to start the soothing process early.

With shaking, uncertain hands, he slides down off the bed and gives the room a quick scan. It looks like his and Hibari's bedroom, but bigger, and with more utilities. Also, the bed has a huge canopy.

He wanders over to the utilities. Counter, some sort of…steel contraption, mini-fridge, sink. Basic hotel necessities.

…Speaking of hotels.

He checks the fridge. Basically empty, for all he cares. Cupboards, however, give him a special nightmare treat.

Tsuna uncorks the bottle of Unspecified Alcohol and gives it an experimental sip. It burns a lot, and tastes so strong he can smell it with his eyes. He didn't take a big enough gulp to choke, so whatever, it's fine. The important part is that his core feels hot and satisfying, burning through the pit in his stomach and the raw ache in his thraot.

Xanxus shifts slightly and lets out a muffled moan.

Tsuna glances at him suspiciously. If he's anything like Hibari waking up, Tsuna is in for it, but Tsuna was plastered against his side. If he's anything like Hibari with a Tsuna attached, it should be…fine. Well, Tsuna won't die, which is something.

He takes another swig. Xanxus' nostrils flare.

Hmmm.

Tsuna retrieves a second bottle of Unidentified Alcohol and uncorks it. Xanxus' lips twitch slightly. Tsuna heads over and leans the bottle against Xanxus' mouth. Xanxus lifts a hand to swat, but when his fingers hit the bottle, they wrap around it and tip it all the way up to drink.

"More like my dad than Hibari-san," Tsuna mutters.

He returns to the countertops to nose around. The steel contraption is rectangular, with a thick base and a handle at the top. A grill, he's guessing?

He pulls the lid up a bit to check, and is hit with a delicious smell and a bloom of steam. There's a plate of mashed potatoes and vegetables, a little pitcher of hot gravy, a plate with two ears of corn, and another dish with three steaks stacked, still sizzling a little. The base is hot to the touch when he tests it. It's a heated food tray.

Tsuna, far too smart to assume any of this is for him, mutters "how much can you put away?"

The blankets shift. Tsuna whips his head around to see Xanxus, sitting upright, staring at him. He looks lucid, if perplexed.

"Hey," says Tsuna.

Xanxus' eyes flick down to Tsuna's silk boxers and then back up to his face, a silent question in his eyes. He opens his mouth to voice that question when Tsuna refuses to speak, but all that comes out is a weak rattling sound.

"You hungry?" Tsuna asks, taking a swig of his stolen Nightmare Treat. Xanxus narrows his eyes at the bottle, then at Tsuna's face again. Tsuna ignores the unspoken chastisement and brings the heated tray to Xanxus. The utensils are made of finely carved wood in a little plastic container, no doubt because holding a heated metal utensil would be…a challenge.

Xanxus glares at the tray, but gives up on trying to convince Tsuna that everything he is doing and ever will do is wrong with only his eyes, in favour of attempting to swallow a steak whole. Tsuna leaves him to it so he can go find his pants.

He locates them hanging off the chair by the door, and wobbles and hops around as his terrible balance wages war with the need to stand on one leg at a time.

He eventually leans against the wall, which ends up being the perfect place to get shards of glass embedded in his cheek as Xanxus throws his empty bottle at the wall next to him hard enough to make it explode.

Tsuna freezes with the pants still halfway up his knees. Xanxus glares and gestures at the cupboards with a nod of his head.

Tsuna yanks his pants up all the way, pulls his suspenders on, and fetches him another bottle. There's like, a billion of them, which is encouraging now that he has the suspicion that Xanxus may rival both Tsuna and his father when it comes to power-drinking.

Xanxus snatches the bottle out of Tsuna's hand as soon as he comes close and tosses it back without breaking eye contact. Tsuna raises his eyebrows and lightly sips his own, because he loves and respects his liver. He can't read Italian, so he doesn't know the alcohol content of whatever they're drinking, but he gets the impression based on the burn that he might need to call a doctor for Xanxus at some point.

Xanxus scrapes the veggies into his mouth like a dump truck taking on a load and attacks his second steak. He's still glaring at Tsuna. Tsuna reaches up to fuss with his stinging cheek nervously, and winces when his fingers touch glass.

"Oh, shit." He attempts to pluck the little glass splinters out of his face. There's no blood trickling down his cheek — his healing factor must have stemmed it a bit. When he scrapes the splinters out with a wince, he can feel his cheek pull and the little _'pop-pop-pop'_ of his skin snapping back into place.

Xanxus' perplexed expression deepens. He gestures Tsuna to come closer. Tsuna passes him his hand instead.

Looking irritable, Xanxus looks at Tsuna, then the hand, then brings it up to his mouth and bites hard enough to draw blood.

" _OW,_ WHAT THE HELL," Tsuna shrieks, whipping his injured limb back. He only scraped it a bit, but the rest of his hand will bruise!

Or…not, he muses as it starts sucking inward. Tsuna grabs a pillar of the bed to brace himself, and it snaps back into place with a visible plume of Ash and a shock that makes Tsuna's eyes water. _Whuff_ , there it is!

Xanxus glares at Tsuna's undamaged hand, and gestures at Tsuna to give it back. Tsuna is against this, but at the same time, Xanxus already tested the Ash, and if he wanted to try extreme injury, he's better off stabbing him. Tsuna gives it.

Xanxus pushes his thumb against the healed skin, looking up at Tsuna as he does so. When Tsuna doesn't react, he digs his fingernail in. It hurts, and makes Tsuna flinch, but he stops when Tsuna's skin starts turning a foul dark grey shade. When he releases his nail, the shadow slowly fades back to its original pale, expired milk colour. Tsuna hadn't considered what constant damage like that would do, and no one else had tried it. Hmm.

Testing done, Xanxus releases him to tear into his third steak while drinking from his bottle. Tsuna retreats back to the chair so he can continue getting dressed. The capelet was folded neatly on the seat, and he smooths it carefully after clipping it into place.

When he turns around, Xanxus is staring at him again. His expression clears a little when his eyes rest on the Vongola Varia patch on the capelet, but it's replaced with a vague, frustrated look.

Tsuna considers helping him out, but then he remembers Xanxus just gave him a shrapnel wound and bit him unprompted. He continues to drink, intentionally oblivious to whatever Xanxus' needs are.

Xanxus clears his throat roughly and tries speaking again. This time, he gets a waspish hiss, which seems good enough for him, because the next time he opens his mouth it's to hoarsely whisper _"who the fuck are you?"_

Tsuna keeps his face blank and doesn't answer. He's not even sure he could without awkwardly stumbling through an explanation of the bizarre hiring process, and he doesn't want to show weakness to the scary murder boss who could definitely snap Tsuna in half if Tsuna didn't have healing powers, especially without a Hibari here to assert dominance on his behalf. Someone else can explain it. Tsuna is Aloof now. That's his new character trait. He's Hibari now. Xanxus can fucking suck it. Tsuna doesn't have feelings.

He holds eye contact and drinks. Xanxus lifts his own bottle as if to throw it, but realizing there's still some liquid left, takes a swig instead. They stare menacingly at each other in mutual stubbornness and generic dislike. Actually, Tsuna thinks there must have been stuff to mix it with in the fridge, and he'd really rather have his drink diluted, but he's too stubborn to go make his alcohol taste good now that Xanxus has apparently interpreted it as some sort of power move.

Tsuna breaks the standoff to sit on the chair by the door, cross his legs, fold his arms, and attempt to project the feeling of Hibari looming over him from across his hospital room. He wishes he had a book, or some terrifying monosyllablic threats to throw out.

Xanxus wrinkles his nose. "Where the fuck am I?" He tried using his voice that time, and it crackles a little, with a small bubble of nearly-silent air clicking through it.

Tsuna gestures to his Varia patch. Wow, his face feels kinda hot. Foggy. That was fast; it took him two bottles of sake to get smashed last time. He inspects the bottle suspiciously.

"Where's…Squalo?" Xanxus doesn't bother saying Squalo's name with a Japanese slant for the sake of Tsuna's pitiful, untrained ears, but it's still clear who he means.

Tsuna shrugs.

Xanxus throws his plate at him.

Tsuna dodges it, only because he doesn't want mashed potatoes all over the pretty velvet fabric. It hits the chair hard enough to knock it loudly against the wall, and a crack splinters across the plate, but it doesn't shatter. It does, however, land potato-side down, rendering the chair unsittable, possibly forever.

Tsuna's instinct to come off as cool and in-control falls away to genuine antagonism. He gives Xanxus a withering look.

Xanxus responds by throwing his steak plate too.

Tsuna dodges it, finishes his bottle, and chucks that at Xanxus, who catches it and hurls it at Tsuna's skull. He shifts out of the way and it shatters against the wall, tearing the wallpaper, and Xanxus follows it up with the gravy pitcher. Tsuna dives, wary of getting splashed as it passes. These are really nice clothes!

Xanxus tries to get up, but his arms buckle and he flops over. Tsuna makes for the door. Xanxus recovers and flings the entire heated tray, corn and all, at him. It collides with the door just as Tsuna gets it open, slamming it shut again. Tsuna freezes, looking over his shoulder at Xanxus, who is glaring daggers at him.

"I'm going to go get him," Tsuna snips. When Xanxus doesn't react, he clarifies with "Squalo."

Xanxus stays still for a few more seconds, before finally relaxing and flopping back on his bed.

"Hurry your ass up, then, brat," he growls. The effect is tarnished by the painful-sounding wheeze to his voice. He sounds like he collapsed a lung.

Tsuna sniffs and whips the door open. There's no one in the hall, and he's not sure where he is, but he thinks he has a decent grasp on the first floor, so off he goes!

There's almost no one around when Tsuna starts descending; the people who were up last night have gone to bed, apparently. Tsuna hadn't bothered pulling away the curtains, so he has no idea what time it is until he hits the first floor and peeks out the window just to the right of the stairs. Mid-morning-ish? He wasn't out long, at least.

Tsuna wanders along, past Lussuria's gym, until he finds the massive dining hall. There's four entrances and a huge window that takes up the entire back wall that illuminates the huge rectangular table. It's fit for a castle.

And also fit for breakfast. Squalo, Lussuria, Mammon, the blonde woman, and Hibari are all seated, eating a delicious-looking meal. Hibari has his back to Tsuna, but the rest have Tsuna in their line of sight or peripheral vision.

Lussuria raises his eyebrows. "Oh, Hachiko-chan, you're all dressed up for breakfast!"

Tsuna nods, face pulled into a grimace, and then attempts to gesture behind him with his head.

Lussuria smiles and nods, gratefully, clearly not getting Tsuna's gist.

Tsuna nods more ferociously and widens his eyes. Lussuria frowns, confused, before he realizes what Tsuna means. He stands up abruptly, knocking his chair over. Everyone turns to look at him.

"I…" Lussuria starts.

"I didn't do anything wrong," Tsuna says loudly and suspiciously. All eyes turn towards him instead.

"You haven't done anything wrong…if I get there in time. Be right back!" Lussuria hops over his chair and sprints full tilt down the hallway behind him, leaving Tsuna alone with the rest of the table.

Squalo is sitting there, frozen, staring at him. He seems the type to be constantly overwhelmed by apoplectic rage, so Tsuna ignores him.

Mammon has lost interest and gone back to eating. Hibari had never stopped.

The blonde woman is staring too, eyes wide and head tilted like she's trying to get Tsuna's attention. Her leather-clad fingers fiddle with her hair. She looks meaningfully from her grip on the strands of her loose bun to Tsuna again, gaze insistent.

Tsuna frowns for a moment.

Then he remembers the last thing that happened before he blacked out, and his hand whips to his hair. His black, unpinned, unslicked hair.

…And chances are, he's not wearing makeup anymore either.

Tsuna takes a slow, nervous step back, and gives Squalo a helpless look. Squalo is slowly sitting up, looking absolutely murderous.

 _"What did I fucking tell you,"_ he grinds.

"Technically," Tsuna says slowly, "the Varia isn't the mafia?"

Squalo responds by stabbing his prosthetic into the prong sticking from the sheath at his side and pulling out a sword.

Tsuna's confidence in his own immunity falters. He stares at the back of Hibari's head. Hibari (and Mammon, for that matter) ignores him, totally occupied with breakfast.

The woman stands up, though. "Squalo, he's not completely-"

"Give Federico a year and a half, and he WILL be 'completely'," Squalo says, much louder now. He takes a step forward, and Tsuna takes a cautious step back.

"C…Completely what…?" Tsuna asks.

"He doesn't know!" She adds quickly, pointing at Tsuna. "He doesn't know, it's easier to just keep him here-"

 _"Six feet under,"_ Squalo suggests icely.

"Under watch! Under watch, I was going to say." She rounds the table too, removing one of her gloves. "Squalo, if you kill him, I will have to report Tsunayoshi is dead, even if I don't say who did it, which might be a problem for you when it's time to negotiate for Xanxus' release."

"You have to unfreeze him," Mammon throws out.

Cold sweat beads on Tsuna's neck.

"Tsunayoshi won't be dying," Hibari finally interjects. After, Tsuna notes bitterly, he has finished off his plate.

"And who are you to say that, bird trash?" Squalo barks, taking a meaningful step.

The woman attempts to intercept him, Tsuna flattens against the wall, and Hibari swiftly picks up his butterknife and flings it at Squalo. It makes a deafening _CLANG_ noise as it collides with Squalo's blade and goes flying across the table. The woman quickly jumps in front of Tsuna and holds up her palm in a strange stance.

"Hey, uh, mind filling me in?" Tsuna asks, an octave too high.

"You're…uhm. A valuable defense against a coup. Unfortunately. Please stand back." She nudges Tsuna back with her foot.

Mammon is still eating.

Hibari stands and whips out his tonfas, the image of casual confidence, apparently not threatened by the big scary murder man with his big scary sword hand. He takes a step forward.

"Tsunayoshi belongs to me. If you try to infringe upon my property, I'll bite you to death."

Tsuna snarls at him, but he's behind a much taller woman and Hibari has his back to him, so it goes unnoticed.

"That's a riot, considering he outranks you," Squalo laughs, loudly. "Give him time, and you'll be taking orders from him."

"If I ever left his care I'd probably just ignore him," Tsuna comments weakly, attempting to piece together how high up his dad has to be to outrank Hibari's Mystery Authority. It can't be the yakuza, there's twelve people between him and a reasonable position of power. Zeni made fun of Morita for even suggesting it.

"It doesn't matter, because he won't be leaving my care until I say so. Stand back."

Squalo takes another step forward.

Hibari flies at him, tonfas flaring out like wings, and he slams into Squalo at full force. Squalo attempts to slide him off, but the anti-vehicle spikes slide out of the tonfa bars, preventing the sword from skating. Hibari swings low with his other hand, and Squalo stops it with his heel and tries kneeing Hibari in the face. Hibari pulls back, freeing their weapons from their deadlock, and then he pivots away from a sword slash and lights his tonfas up in Cloud Flames with a menacing twist of the mouth.

 _"Che due coglioni,"_ the woman mutters.

Mammon finishes eating and delicately taps their mouth with a napkin.

Squalo strikes at Hibari's tonfas oddly, and there's a deafening ringing sound as they vibrate. Hibari ignores it and swiftly flares his tonfas again, leaving the vibrating afterimage of his arms behind, and stabs at Squalo with crossed arms. When Squalo tilts back, the tonfas go up to chase after his head, making Hibari overbalance when it misses. Squalo moves to slash him, but Tsuna realizes Hibari had left a purple afterimage behind at his feet, which springs up, pushing Hibari back just in time to avoid the strike and nailing Squalo in the chin.

" _Porco cane_ , how dense _are_ his Flames?" The woman hisses.

"He, uh, doesn't need a conduit, as far as I can tell?" Tsuna says nervously.

She turns to look at him with wide, horrified eyes.

Just as she turns back, Mammon raises their hand, and thorny green ropes whip out from the ground, hoisting Squalo and Hibari in the air. Sort of. When Tsuna squints, he can see that there's a small bloom of fire holding up by their coat collars, like a parent hoisting up scolded children.

"That's quite enough of that," Mammon says loudly. "You won't be killing Sawada Tsunayoshi."

"As long as Xanxus is frozen, I'm the leader, and as the leader, _I say we kill him!_ " Squalo snarls.

"Unfortunately, Oregano is correct. The longer Tsunayoshi's abomination of a health condition is here to keep Xanxus under control, the faster we can negotiate for his re-introduction to the underworld. If we miss this upcoming ball, it could be months before he'd be allowed out of house arrest. Timoteo will arrive tomorrow. Control yourself."

Squalo spits blood - apparently he bit his tongue when Hibari hit him - and glares. Hibari retracts his tonfas, folds his arms and gives Squalo a look of contempt, daring him to argue.

"…Fuck! Fine! FUCKING FINE!" Squalo lets out a wash of blue aura that floods the illusion of rose stems off him, leaving only the small tack of white-indigo Tsuna saw underneath. Mammon releases the both of them, and the blonde woman — Oregano — slowly lowers her stance.

There's a crash upstairs, coming from the way Tsuna came in.

"Oh fuck," Tsuna mutters.

"What was that? What did you do?" Squalo snarls.

"Uhhhh, technically, Lussuria did it?" Tsuna hedges.

Another crash, and the muffled sound of Lussuria speaking rapidly and nervously.

Tsuna smiles thinly.

And attempts to sprint away.

Oregano catches him by his suspenders, and he chokes as he loses his balance. Hibari glares at him. No one can look at Tsuna nicely today, can they?

There's a series of hammering thumps, and then the sounds reach the first floor. Tsuna can only hear Lussuria's voice, but Xanxus can only whisper, so…

He winces as the doors are flung open, nearly smacking Oregano in the face, and Xanxus stands there, breathing heavily, coated in bloody bandages.

He looks straight at Squalo, and his expression of murderous rage falls away to naked shock.

Squalo stares, arms dangling loosely at his sides.

"I should handcuff you to me," Hibari says, eying Tsuna suspiciously.

"I _said_ it was Lussuria's fault!" Tsuna snaps.

Xanxus' hand slowly eases up to touch his hair. Squalo strokes his own long, silvery locks, and tilts his chin up, almost defiantly.

"The plan's still in motion," he says, but his voice isn't as confident as it was when he was threatening to gut Tsuna.

A ghost of a smile twitches at Xanxus' mouth, and he shakes his head, as if charmed. His hand drops to run over his mouth.

"How long?" He whispers, still in Japanese. His voice is still a wiry, broken rasp. He sounds demonic.

"Eight years," Squalo says grimly.

"Eight..." Xanxus' fond expression buckles into a frown. "Enrico should have—"

"Enrico's dead," Squalo interrupts.

Xanxus nods, as if this was to be expected. "Massimo is—"

"Dead."

That gets a reaction. A _bad_ one. His face shutters off, and one of his bandaged hands clenches. His jaw works and he continues nodding.

"…Fed…Federico is…"

"Quite frankly, too stupid to live." There's a moment of tension, and Squalo adds, "he won't take the seat until his brat's old enough to fend for himself."

Xanxus relaxes, and his nods grow more confident. He unclenches his fist, clenches, unclenches, then whips around and shoves a bloody finger in Tsuna's direction, making him shriek and duck behind Oregano and Lussuria.

"So who the _fuck_ is that?"

Everyone makes meaningful eye contact.

"Hachiko," says Tsuna.

"Hachiko," Oregano agrees.

"Their name's Hachiko," Lussuria backs up.

"Abomination in defiance of natural law," Mammon adds.

"Mine," Hibari says. Tsuna throws a brass knuckle at him. Hibari catches it without looking.

They all look at Squalo.

Squalo sheathes his blade and glares at the rest of them. "…Mammon's rental assistant. They'll keep you calm enough to convince the old fucker that you've 'turned over a new leaf'. He froze you right after you found…"

Xanxus' fist clenches again.

"…So it should be easy to convince him," Squalo shakes his head. "Just stand next to them for the next few weeks, you won't even have to try."

"I am not letting that," Xanxus points a furious finger at Tsuna, "hang off me."

"He threw a gravy pitcher at me," Tsuna whines.

Xanxus looks at the table, sees another pitcher, and goes for it. Tsuna, who is closer, dives for the table first and throws the nearest object, a fork. Xanxus catches it like he caught the bottle and hurls both the fork and the pitcher he was aiming for. Tsuna ducks out of the way and flings a chair.

Hibari gives Squalo a smug look.

"It'll kick in eventually," Mammon hums.

"If Hachiko-chan has been chucking things at Xanxus all morning and lived to tell the tale, this is probably as good as it's going to get," Lussuria says as Tsuna attempts to bean Xanxus with a candelabra for almost ruining his capelet with a butter dish.

"Stop THROWING SHIT AT ME," Tsuna screams, ducking out of the way of a steak knife.

"New question," Squalo marches up and slams Lussuria against the doorframe, _"why the fuck is Xanxus already out of the ice?"_

Lussuria tilts his head as Tsuna screams bloody murder when Xanxus gives up on landing a hit and flips the entire table.

"…Funny story…?"

* * *

 **Cultural notes**

 _Oregano's Italian_ \- She's cussing like a sailor.

* * *

 **AN** : I wanted to leave the whump back in the last part and focus on the emotional aftershocks, but I realized I had never actually specified why Tsuna was severely traumatized despite coming out fine from situations like Zeni. I mainly never specified because that's Too Much Whump in too brief a time period, but now that Tsuna's mentally collapsing, time to uh. Specify. Welcome to my [checks notes of 'irredeemably terrible protagonist AU tropes'] ajin AU

This took forever because it was going to have a Namimori section but I have to break down and admit that nothing was getting done until I posted it. Here it is I guess


End file.
